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THE  ARTISTS  POINT  OF  VIEPV 


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THE  ARTIST’S 
POINT  OF  VIEW 


EMBRACED  IN  A SERIES  OF  LETTERS  ON 
LANDSCAPE  PAINTING  AND  KINDRED 
TOPICS 


BY 

ROYAL  HILL  MILLESON 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  & CO. 

1912 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCLURG  & CO. 

1912 

Published,  September,  1912 


PRESS  OF  THE  VAIL  COMPANY 
COSHOCTON.  U.  S.  A, 


THE  ARTISTS  POINT  OF  VIEW 


1 


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THE  ARTIST’S  POINT 
OF  VIEW 


Containing  Matter  of  an  Introductory  Na- 
ture, Along  with  Some  Gratuitous 
Advice 

Chicago,  111.,  March  10,  IQ — . 
Mr.  Chester  Normandin, 

Beechwood,  Ohio. 

Dear  Sir — Your  letter  of  recent  date  is 
received.  You  speak  flatteringly  of  my 
’work  and  request  to  be  informed  if  it  will 
be  convenient  for  me  to  give  you  lessons  in 
painting.  In  reply  I must  acknowledge  my 
inability  to  be  of  any  service  to  you  in  that 
way.  It  is  just  possible,  had  the  writer  re- 
mained in  Beechwood  for  a protracted 
period  and  you  had  seen  proper  to  submit 
examples  of  your  work  for  his  criticism,  he 
might  thus  have  rendered  you  some  slight 
[I] 


THE  ARTISTS 


assistance;  and  doubtless,  in  return,  you 
could  and  would  have  done  as  much  for 
him.  During  my  brief  sojourn  there,  Mr. 
H.  showed  me  several  pictures  you  had 
painted,  and  I must  say  that  their  evident 
sincerity  and  spontaneous  character  inter- 
ested me  greatly. 

Observation  and  considerable  experience 
have  led  me  to  think  that  each  individual’s 
method  and  style  of  painting  are  so  dis- 
tinctly a growth  or  development  of  his  own 
mental  faculties  as  to  render  the  difficulties 
of  imparting  them  to  another  wholly  in- 
surmountable. If  I myself  do  not  know 
how  my  pictures  are  produced,  how  can  it 
be  possible  for  me  to  teach  you?  By  direct- 
ing your  attention  to  some  of  the  first  prin- 
ciples— that  is  to  say,  by  assisting  you  in 
recalling  those  fundamental  truths  in  the 
painter’s  curriculum  with  which  probably 
you  are  already  familiar — I might  aid  you 
in  the  painting  of  your  pictures,  but  not  in  a 
lifetime  could  I teach  any  one  how  to  paint 
[2] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


mine.  Unless  you  could  think  my  thoughts 
you  could  not  paint  my  kind  of  a picture; 
nor  is  it  desirable  that  you  should  do  so,  be- 
cause yours  might  be  much  the  better. 

Of  those  underlying  principles  of  art, 
whatever  knowledge  I have  has  been  ac- 
quired by  studying  carefully  the  best  as  well 
as  the  worst  efforts  of  recognized  artists,  and 
through  the  reading  of  good  books  treating 
of  art,  along  with  that  which  may  have  come 
to  me  during  a limited  course  of  academic 
studies  in  drawing.  To  acquire  any  sort  of 
proficiency  in  draughtsmanship,  you  should 
if  possible  attend  a regular  art  school  for  a 
year  or  two  at  least;  if  unable  to  do  this, 
then  do  the  best  you  can  without  it.  It  goes 
without  Baying  that  the  careful  study  of  all 
grades  of  pictures,  more  especially  of  good 
ones,  and  the  perusal  of  books  on  art,  must 
prove  beneficial  to  the  young  painter. 

That  a fine  picture  or  a finished  drawing 
can  be  easily  or  quickly  produced  I have  yet 
to  learn.  Only  amateurs  or  persons  having 

[3] 


THE  ARTISTS 


a mercenary  object  in  view  talk  of  clever 
things  being  “dashed  off.”  The  individual 
who  has  never  painted  a picture  is  the  one 
who  speaks  in  that  way.  A sketch  with  the 
appearance  of  having  been  thus  handled  al- 
most invariably  is  the  identical  one  upon 
which  its  author  worked  long  and  carefully; 
and  conversely  the  production  with  a la- 
bored look  may  trace  the  origin  of  its  trou- 
bles to  undue  haste  in  the  early  stages  of  its 
unfortunate  career. 

In  one  who  has  some  native  talent,  cor- 
rect drawing  and  good  taste,  supplemented 
by  creative  instinct  and  old-fashioned  in- 
dustry, go  to  make  pictures  that  are  toler- 
ably certain  to  command  respect.  Drawing 
is  taught  in  schools  established  and  equipped 
for  the  purpose,  and  correct  taste  is  the  re- 
sult of  years  of  cultivation.  Natural  good 
taste  is  all  right  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  it  must 
yield  to  the  refined  faculty,  precisely  as  our 
primitive  manners,  however  well-inten- 
tioned, are  eclipsed  by  those  of  polished 

[4] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


individuals.  Refined  taste  and  politeness 
resemble  Art  in  that  they  are  concepts  of 
the  highest  development  of  civilization. 

I find  this  letter  is  stringing  out,  and  its 
writer  drifting  into  waters  which  may  be 
beyond  his  depth;  but  I believe  the  earnest 
tone  of  your  note  is  to  blame  for  this.  Like 
Tennyson’s 

— infant  crying  in  the  night, 

An  infant  crying  for  the  light, 

it  has  aroused  my  sympathy,  and  I desire  to 
help  you  if  it  is  within  my  power  to  do  so. 
Though  without  the  pleasure  of  your  per- 
sonal acquaintance,  I should  suggest,  if  my 
advice  were  sought  by  one  in  your  position 
and  showing  the  same  degree  of  promise, 
that  you  continue  painting  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  commercial  pictures  to  gain 
a livelihood,  at  the  same  time  persevering 
as  opportunities  present  themselves  in  your 
studies  of  nature  and  the  higher  expressions 
of  art. 


[s] 


THE  ARTISTS 

Trusting  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
from  you  again, 

I have  the  honor  to  be,  Your  Obedient 
Servant,  etc. 


[6] 


I 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


SECOND  LETTER 

Consisting,  Like  the  First,  of  Generaliza- 
tions for  the  Most  Part 

My  Dear  Sir — I am  pleased  to  learn 
from  the  contents  of  the  letter  lying  before 
me,  which  came  yesterday,  that  your  cor- 
respondent’s well-meant  efifusion  gave  no 
offense;  on  the  contrary  you  seem  to  have 
derived  enjoyment  from  its  perusal.  Thank 
you.  And  is  it  really  your  opinion  that  I 
should  write  a book?  Well — perhaps; 
anyway  I am  indebted  to  you  for  an  idea. 
For  books  your  humble  servant  has  a par- 
ticular fondness,  but  never  imagined  he 
could  write  one,  which  isn ’t  saying  he  has 
not  desired  the  gift.  That  one  never  knows 
what  he  can  do  until  he  has  tried,  is  a pre- 
cept I fully  endorse ; but  what  I do  know,  is, 
that  what  I don’t  know,  if  comprised  in  a 

[7] 


THE  ARTISTS 


single  volume,  would  be  a monstrous  affair, 
well  calculated  to  stagger  prospective  read- 
ers. 

It  is  gratifying  to  learn  that  you  appreci- 
ate and  intend  to  follow  the  suggestion  with 
which  I closed  my  former  communication, 
namely,  that  you  should  continue  painting 
for  a livelihood  the  pictures  you  know  how 
to  paint  without  relinquishing  the  serious 
study  of  art.  The  term  “commercial  pic- 
tures,” as  I understand  it,  signifies  hur- 
ried productions  of  commonplace  charac- 
ter along  threadbare  lines,  simple  sketches 
somewhat  analogous  to  the  writings  of  jour- 
nalistic novices,  whose  motto  perforce  is  to 
“fill  the  space — with  good  stuff,  if  you  can, 
but  fill  it  up  and — get  your  money.”  You 
might  do  worse.  Better  painters  than  either 
you  or  I have  traversed  that  road  on  their 
way  to  the  goal.  In  doing  this,  disregard 
the  unkind  sneers  of  more  fortunate  individ- 
uals who  happen  to  have  the  means  where- 
with to  study  “art  for  art’s  sake.”  If  you 

[8] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


permit  youfself  to  be  floored  by  that  group 
you  are  lacking  in  the  moral  strength  es- 
sential to  an  artist.  Their  “art  for  art’s 
sake,”  though  praiseworthy,  not  infrequently 
ends  in  disappointment  for  themselves  and 
their  friends,  while  another  who  paints  be- 
cause he  is  full  of  the  idea — fairly  overflow- 
ing with  it;  who  paints  in  spite  of  himself, 
regardless  of  the  sacrifices  his  devotion  im- 
poses ; and  for  whom  the  pursuit  is  a passion 
impossible  to  be  repressed,  gains  well-mer- 
ited recognition  in  the  end. 

A young  artist  with  the  fairest  of  pros- 
pects before  him  once  jocularly  declared 
in  the  writer’s  hearing  that  he  would  be 
“scared  to  death”  if  any  of  his  pictures  were 
to  sell — meaning  thereby  to  convey  the  idea 
that  if  his  paintings  possessed  selling  quali- 
ties the  fact  of  itself  would  imply  that  a taint 
of  commercialism  lurked  somewhere  in 
their  make-up;  or,  to  express  it  differently, 
he  would  have  us  think  that  by  reason  of 
their  superlatively  good  qualities  his  pic- 

[9] 


THE  ARTISTS 


tures  soared  aloft  in  an  atmosphere  rarer 
than  that  of  commercialism.  As  a matter 
of  fact  other  and  more  substantial  reasons 
existed  for  their  unsalableness. 

Not  a few  well-intentioned  students,  after 
having  spent  years  in  drawing  from  casts, 
still  life  and  the  nude,  until  they  are  pre- 
pared to  depict  any  object  or  group  of  ob- 
jects properly  placed  before  them,  fail 
utterly  when  demands  are  made  on  their 
constructive,  imaginative  or  creative  powers. 
They  are  able  to  sit  all  day  long  and  draw 
not  only  the  model  but  the  plaudits  of 
their  companions,  without  bestowing  much 
thought  on  the  task  in  hand;  and  there  it 
all  ends.  Over  in  Paris  they  say  “If  you 
can’t  draw  you  can’t  paint,”  which  is  true  as 
gospel;  but  they  do  not  say  that  one  can 
paint  because  he  can  draw.  To  employ  the 
inelegant  expression  of  a bantering  artist, 
there  are  skillful  draughtsmen  who  can  not 
paint  pictures  “for  sour  apples.”  The 
favored  individual  is  he  who  combines  the 

[lO] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


subtleness  of  thorough  draughtsmanship 
with  a healthy  imagination,  creative  ability, 
refined  taste  and  ardent,  abiding  love  for 
the  beautiful. 

It  is  to  be  hoped,  my  dear  Mr.  Norman- 
din,  that  in  whatsoever  your  correspondent 
writes,  you  will  take  him  seriously  but  not 
too  literally.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  under- 
take to  formulate  a set  of  close  rules  for  any 
one  to  follow.  Prescribed  standards  for 
endeavor  in  any  sphere  of  original  thought 
are  of  necessity  arbitrary.  While  you  are 
yet  young  assiduously  improve  your  mental 
faculties  while  they  are  active,  receptive, 
tenacious  and  analytical,  and  rest  assured 
that  in  the  fullness  of  time  the  harvest  will 
be  yours.  In  the  conduct  of  life  have  re- 
gard for  the  noble  sentiment  embodied  in 
Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox’s  poem  entitled  “Art- 
ist and  Man” : 

If  in  thy  too  brief  day  thou  must  neglect 

Thy  labor  or  thy  life,  let  men  detect 

Flaws  in  thy  work!  while  their  most  searching  gaze 

[II] 


THE  ARTISTS 


Can  fall  on  nothing  which  they  may  not  praise 
In  thy  well-chiseled  character. 

Put  aside  all  thoughts  of  pecuniary  suc- 
cess, and  strive  to  paint  a picture — a thing  of 
beauty,  grace,  harmony,  balance,  flowing 
line,  breadth,  simplicity.  The  poetry  of  art 
is  higher  than  its  realism,  notwithstanding 
the  latter  phase  of  it  is  the  ultimate  founda- 
tion stone  in  the  student’s  pillar  of  knowl- 
edge. Wdiile  keeping  ever  in  view  this 
stubborn  fact,  from  the  start  the  true  artist 
will  aim  to  symbolize  nature’s  seraphic  song 
by  robing  his  creations  in  the  pure  unsullied 
garb  of  poetic  fancy.  He  should  never  re- 
ject the  world’s  criticism  of  Ids  work,  but  by 
earnest  effort  endeavor  to  disarm  it. 

A picture  is  made  up  of  lines,  masses, 
colors  and  graduated  effects  of  light  and 
shade,  so  placed  as  to  represent  something 
they  are  not.  If  1 am  able  to  derive  mental 
enjoyment  or  extract  a moral  lesson  from 
the  arrangement,  then  the  painting,  in  so  far 
as  it  touches  me,  is  a finished  thing,  has 
[12] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


rounded  out  its  destiny.  Does  the  canvas 
speak  to  me  in  a language  that  another  may 
not  understand — has  it  a particular  message 
that  I alone  can  interpret?  Then  it  is  mine. 
You  may  feel  or  you  may  affect  indifference 
for  or  scoff  at  my  understanding  or  my  lack 
of  understanding,  but  as  a matter  of  fact 
you  should  not  be  concerned.  If  by  reason 
of  your  higher  developed  facultes,  superior 
acumen  and  more  refined  taste,  you  demand 
something  else,  go  seek  your  soul  mate  in 
art,  and  leave  me  to  contemplate  my  inno- 
cent source  of  joy.  A child  whose  restive 
spirit  is  soothed  by  the  strains  of  a lullaby 
craves  no  higher  art. 

No  one  has  ever  yet  demonstrated  that 
true  love  in  the  common  ranks  of  life  is  less 
spiritual  than  that  of  the  prince  or  nabob. 
The  lover’s  world  is  a small  one,  with  a 
population  of  two.  He  perceives  beauty 
and  excellence  where  another  looks  for  them 
in  vain — discovers  qualities  utterly  undis- 
coverable  by  any  one  else.  Would  you  rob 


THE  ARTISTS 


him  of  that  which  to  you  would  be  worth- 
less? Must  we  all  love  the  same  picture 
merely  because  someone  has  pronounced  it 
great?  Art  may  be  advanced  through 
catholicity;  but  by  dogmatism,  never.  The 
writer  remembers  when  at  school  seeing.a 
little  girl  of  about  his  own  age  chalk  up  on 
a blackboard  the  picture  of  a log  cabin, 
showing  doorway,  windows,  chimney  and 
all,  with  a splendid  tree  towering  above 
them,  and  the  whole  surrounded  by  a su- 
perb fence.  For  the  girl  herself  I had  but 
slight  regard  ; but,  God  bless  you,  I sat  there 
wrapt  in  admiration  of  her  wonderful  art! 
To  be  able  to  perform  such  a feat,  what 
would  I not  have  given?  Could  insignifi- 
cant 1 hope  to  attain  such  a height  in  clever- 
ness? Now  I am  brought  to  a realization 
of  the  truth  that  the  poetry  and  exquisite 
charm  with  which  that  sketch  was  invested 
came  not  from  the  child  who  drew  it,  but 
from  me.  The  yearnings  of  an  untutored 
heart  found  gratification  in  a lullaby.  As 

[14] 


POINT  OF  VIEIV 


Emerson  says,  we  take  from  a picture  only 
that  which  we  bring  to  it. 

You  and  I agree  in  dissenting  from  the 
views  entertained  by  your  pessimistic  ac- 
quaintance regarding  the  future  of  art  in 
this  country.  He  is  very  much  mistaken. 
I am  no  prophet  nor  the  son  of  a prophet, 
but  unless  I am  a miserably  poor  guesser,  an 
era  of  unexampled  development  throughout 
the  whole  domain  of  art  is  approaching  in 
the  United  States.  The  years  to  come 
promise  grander  attainments  in  landscape 
painting  alone  than  we  are  capable  of  imag- 
ining. Candid  contemporaneous  painters 
who  feel  the  limitations  of  their  own 
strength  must  realize  something  of  the 
boundless  possibilities  in  this  direction. 
The  master  landscape  painter  of  the  world 
is  yet  to  appear.  In  the  art  centers  of 
Europe  to-day  the  American  picture  buyer 
is  a joke;  but  the  real  joke,  when  its  prac- 
tical application  is  subjected  to  analysis,  is 
with  the  earnest,  plodding,  struggling  artist 
[IS] 


THE  ARTISTS 


of  his  native  land,  who,  notwithstanding 
the  serious  drawback  which  this  bestowal 
of  the  cream  of  the  patronage  in  other  quar- 
ters puts  upon  him,  will  ultimately  set  a 
mark  so  high  that  even  those  prodigies  of 
other  lands  may  find  some  difficulty  in 
reaching  it.  At  no  distant  day  the  keen  in- 
telligence of  this  people  will  bring  them  to 
a perception  of  the  necessity  of  turning  their 
attention  to  art  as  another  step  in  the  onward 
march  of  their  own  special  form  of  civiliza- 
tion ; and  when  they  do,  my  word  for  it, 
America  in  art  as  in  other  respects  will  be 
abundantly  able  to  take  care  of  herself. 

It  is  very  agreeable  indeed  to  be  informed 
that  you  are  expecting  to  visit  this  city,  and 
will  see  me.  IVusting  your  plans  do  not 
miscarry,  and  that  I shall  soon  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  in  person,  I will 
close  with  the  suggestion  that  it  would  be 
advisable  for  you  to  seek  me  directly  on 
your  arrival. 

Cordially  yours,  etc. 

[i6] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


THIRD  LETTER 

Refers  to  the  Meeting  with  his  Correspond- 
ent by  the  Author,  after  which  he 
Enters  a Disclaimer 

My  Dear  Sir — That  was  a fortunate  op- 
portunity for  both  of  us  which  enabled  you 
to  make  the  trip  to  Chicago;  for  now  that 
we  have  become  acquainted  we  shall  be 
able  to  conduct  our  personal  correspondence 
with  less  reserve.  When  I proposed  that 
if  you  would  write  to  me  occasionally, 
whenever  time  permitted,  I knew  it  would 
afford  me  pleasure  to  indite  an  answer,  and 
in  doing  so  try  to  jot  down  any  little  pointers 
which  might  be  useful  in  your  studies.  The 
agreement  was  made  in  good  faith,  and  shall 
be  adhered  to.  This  should  involve  no  sense 
of  obligation  on  your  part,  for  I ask  noth- 
ing beyond  the  stipulation  that  if  at  any  time 

[17] 


THE  ARTIST’S 


I 


you  discover  wherein  your  instructor  has 
erred  you  will  do  him  simple  justice  by 
remembering  that  he  never  claimed  to  be 
infallible.  Moreover  the  writer  is  opposed 
on  general  principles  to  dogmatists  of  every 
stripe. 

I dare  say  the  impression  derived  from 
the  many  gems  of  landscape  painting  at  the 
Art  Institute  in  this  city,  in  whose  splen- 
dors we  lately  reveled,  has  not  passed  from 
your  remembrance.  Those  examples  of  the 
great  Fromentin’s  work,  for  instance,  and 
those  charming  things  by  Corot  and  Dau- 
bigny. Ah,  me!  How  fondly  1 dwell  on 
the  names  of  these  old  timers!  In  addition 
to  the  three  just  mentioned,  tliere  were 
hAigene  Delacroix,  Mariano  Fortuny,  Con- 
stant Troyan,  Alphonse  DcNcuville,  Jules 
Dupre,  Felix  Ziem,  ^^’illiam  Bouguercau, 
Rosa  Bonheur,  Gustave  Dorc,  Edwin  Land- 
seer, George  Inness,  W’illiam  M.  Hunt,  M. 
F.  H.  Dellaas  and  James  D.  Smillie — 
beacon  lights  of  mv  bovhood  days — all  of 

[i8]' 


( 


POINT  OF  FIE  IF 


whom  were  living  and  painting  at  the  period 
when,  with  the  impetuosity  of  youth,  I was 
struggling  to  rend  my  shackles  and  fly  away 
upon  unfettered  pinions  to  the  impecunious 
land  of  Arcady. 

It  is  doubtful  if  a single  one  of  the  art- 
ists enumerated  in  the  foregoing  list  ever 
allowed  an  excess  of  adulation  on  the  part 
of  admirers  of  his  work  to  divert  him  from 
the  exacting  duties  required  by  his  chosen 
study.  The  painter  whose  renown  influ- 
ences an  extensive  circle  of  kindly  disposed 
creatures  to  lead  him,  siren-like,  into  con- 
tinuous rounds  of  pleasure  generally  pays 
the  penalty  in  a pronounced  loss  of  mental 
vigor,  and  is  not  long  in  forfeiting  all  pre- 
tensions to  the  exercise  of  synthetic  powers. 
Thenceforth  he  is  a “dead  one,”  to  be  cast 
up  sooner  or  later,  like  a confused  mass  of 
wreckage,  on  the  barren  rocks  that  line  the 
shores  of  life’s  sea  of  endeavor.  Rough  and 
ready  army  men  affirm  that  a modicum  of 
social  indulgence  goes  a long  way  toward 

[19] 


THE  ARTISTS 


offsetting  rigorous  field  tactics  and  weary 
marches.  By  reason  of  his  very  nature,  his 
temperamental  attributes,  the  artist  is  over- 
susceptible,  and  should  therefore  be  on  his 
guard.  Not  that  he  should  turn  recluse  or 
embrace  asceticism,  for  these  take  us  to  the 
opposite  extreme;  but  for  one  who  aspires 
to  become  a social  ornament  it  surely  were 
just  as  well  to  relinquish  the  pursuit  of  art 
entirely,  or,  still  better,  never  to  have  begun 
it. 

The  pointed  interrogatory  which  you  put 
to  me  in  this  last  letter,  namely,  do  1 con- 
sider in  view  of  the  course  you  have  elected 
to  pursue  that  the  circumstance  of  your  be- 
ing married  and  the  father  of  children  is  an 
unfortunate  one,  I must  answer  emphati- 
cally in  the  negative.  If  any  individual 
stands  in  need  of  the  encouragement  to  be 
derived  from  companionship  with  one  of 
the  opposite  sex  more  particularly  than  an- 
other, it  is  he  of  the  poetic  temperament. 
The  lights  and  shadows  of  wedded  life — 
[20] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


those  alternating  periods  of  happiness  and 
distress,  of  joy  and  gloom — incident  to  that 
most  natural  and  only  symmetrical  form  of 
existence,  are  the  common  lot,  and  may  be 
observed  in  all  lives.  It  is  useless  trying  to 
evade  them.  Certainly  spinsters  and  bach- 
elors can  not  claim  exemption.  These  re- 
semble unfinished  buildings,  lamps  without 
oil  or  clocks  that  need  to  be  wound.  Good- 
naturedly  speaking,  they  may  be  said  to  be 
all  right,  as  far  as  they  go,  but  something 
is  required  to  make  them  answer  their  orig- 
inal purpose.  The  writer  has  no  patience 
with  those  visionaries  who  would  constitute 
their  imperfect  state  an  essential  stepping 
stone  to  success  in  any  direction. 

Pray  dismiss  your  rising  fears;  it  is  not 
my  purpose  to  take  up  the  question  of  hu- 
man ethics  and  enter  into  its  discussion. 
Occasionally  your  correspondent  may  be 
caught  dabbling  in  the  shallow  waters  along 
shore,  but  he  will  never  plunge  into  the  un- 
fathomable depths  of  that  ocean  of  con- 
[21] 


THE  ARTISrS 


troversy,  you  may  rest  assured.  On  this 
trite  subject  much  has  been  said  and  more 
has  been  written,  notwithstanding  which  its 
recondite  character  remains  undisputed. 
Every  question  has  two  sides,  and  to  the  best 
established  rules  there  are  exceptions.  I can 
not  help  thinking  that,  despite  its  amazing 
complexity  and  imperfections,  humanity 
is  not  unlike  the  umbrageous  groves,  the 
azure  sea,  the  palpitating  fields,  the  ever- 
shifting  clouds  in  the  firmament  or  any  other 
of  the  exquisitely  diversified  aspects  of  na- 
ture. Viewed  from  a reverential  and 
proper  standpoint,  it  is  grandly  beautiful. 
Arc  you  searching  for  the  beautiful? 
“Seek  and  ye  shall  find.” 

Painters,  poets,  composers,  writers  of  fic- 
tion— intellectual  dreamers — have  their 

places,  and  so  have  farmers,  artisans  and 
tradesmen.  Wc  did  not  create  ourselves 
nor  did  we  purchase  in  open  market  the  fac- 
ulties with  which  we  are  endowed.  Every 
one  must  shoulder  his  load  and  carry  it, 
[22] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


and,  knowing  himself,  he  must  determine 
for  himself  what  the  nature  of  that  load 
shall  be.  Each  individual  possesses  some 
share  of  every  other  individual’s  inherent 
disposition,  otherwise  he  would,  as  the  say- 
ing goes,  form  a class  all  by  himself.  We 
are  diminutive  units  of  the  greater  unit — 
Man.  That  we  are  all  linked  together  and 
exist  for  one  another  is  the  conclusion  of 
the  best  thinkers  of  to-day.  May  it  not  be 
possible  that  an  indissoluble  bond  also  unites 
the  living  with  those  who  have  passed  away 
and  with  those  who  are  yet  to  come?  The 
shortsighted  mortal  is  he  who,  in  a spirit  of 
overwhelming  conceit,  imagines  he  can  live 
separately  or  in  a manner  different  from  his 
fellows.  Like  a leaf  detached  from  its 
parent  tree,  he  soon  shrivels. 

With  sentiments  of  sincere  regard,  etc. 


[23] 


THE  ARTISTS 


FOURTH  LETTER 

Some  Hints  with  Reference  to  the  Painting 
of  Pictures  Outdoors,  Along  with  an 
Opinion  as  to  Painting  Them  Indoors 

My  De*\R  Normaxdix — Your  expressed 
determination  to  “get  outdoors  and  do  some 
sketching  from  nature  this  summer,”  is  a 
capital  idea,  and  one  from  which  it  is  to  be 
hoped  trifling  obstacles  will  not  be  per- 
mitted to  swerve  you.  The  landscape 
painter,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  his  model, 
being  unprovided  with  legs,  can  not  come 
to  him,  must  go  to  nature  for  his  subject  and 
inspiration.  If  it  is  your  first  experience, 
you  will  learn  at  the  very  outset  that  instead 
of  its  being  a “fascinating  pastime,”  as  some 
would  seem  to  think,  sketching  outdoors 
comes  nearer  constituting  downright  drudg- 
ery, and  is  withal  a task  abounding  in  dis- 

[24] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


couragements.  The  “fascination”  part  of 
it  is  one  of  those  fascinating  mental  fictions 
indulged  in  by  sentimentalists  who  never 
tried  it,  or,  if  they  did,  sought  to  excuse 
pronounced  failure  by  saying  they  lacked 
“the  talent.” 

When  brought  face  to  face  with  its  real- 
ities one  soon  discovers  that  this  “delight- 
ful” occupation,  like  that  of  the  actor’s, 
presents  a seamy  side  quite  imperceptible  in 
the  breezy  scraps  of  canvas  exposed  to  view 
on  the  walls  of  artist’s  studios.  If  showers 
of  rain  never  sprang  up  to  saturate  you  and 
your  materials,  or  if  gusts  of  wind  never 
blew  your  canvas  into  the  middle  of  next 
week  or  into  the  ravine;  if  the  sunlight 
would  not  glare  and  shift  about,  or  if  mud- 
holes  would  forget  to  locate  themselves  pre- 
cisely where  they  interfere  with  your  point 
of  view;  if  the  temperature  were  never  too 
hot  or  too  cold,  but  always  just  about  right; 
or  if  gnats,  flies,  mosquitoes  and  a myriad  of 
unfamiliar  insects  which  make  their  appear- 

[25] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ance  only  when  sketching  is  going  on,  not 
to  mention  inquisitive  farm  pets,  such  as 
colts,  heifers  and  muley  cows,  nor  the  pred- 
atory pig  that  overturns  your  lunch  basket 
and  runs  off  with  a sandwich  in  his  mouth, 
would  all  and  severally  keep  away,  and 
keep  on  keeping  away,  sketching  “woodland 
and  pastures  green”  might  then  become  not 
very  different  from  any  other  kind  of  plain, 
ordinary  work. 

Since  one  must,  however,  accept  condi- 
tions as  one  finds  them,  the  sketcher  has 
nothing  for  it  but  to  go  ahead,  like  Tommy 
Atkins,  and  take  his  chances.  It  is  fun,  cer- 
tainly, but,  as  Mark  Twain  would  say,  of  a 
“mild  t\'pe.”  Mdien  seated  on  a mass  of 
driftwood  in  the  middle  of  a noisy,  gurgling 
stream,  absorbed  in  the  painting  of  a tum- 
bling waterfall,  suddenly  to  have  your  at- 
tention arrested  by  a water  moccasin  crawl- 
ing over  what  he  supposes  to  be  an  integral 
portion  of  the  drift,  but  which  in  reality  is 
your  foot,  tends  to  disturb  that  continuity  of 
[26] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


thought  so  desirable  at  the  moment;  but  it 
is  nothing  at  all,  once  you  have  passed 
through  the  rather  trying  ordeal  of  becom- 
ing accustomed  to  such  things. 

Again,  a reckless  pot-hunter,  the  terrific 
detonations  of  whose  shotgun  are  all  out  of 
proportion  to  the  diminutive  songsters  he 
is  pursuing,  not  infrequently  helps  to  break 
that  same  continuity.  If  it  is  merely  the 
birds  which  receive  loads  of  shot  in  their 
sides,  there  is  slight  occasion  for  anxiety  on 
your  part,  wherefore  you  may  leisurely 
proceed  with  your  work.  A brave  man  will 
not  encourage  the  disquieting  reflection  that 
the  next  load  may  strike  him.  Don’t  be 
frightened  because  the  leaden  pellets  are 
snipping  off  leaves  and  twigs  in  close  prox- 
imity. Think  of  what  soldiers  have  to 
face! 

Then  there  is  the  inquisitive  yokel  who 
pauses  to  fire  a volley  of  questions  at  you, 
and  passes  on,  to  be  succeeded  in  about  five 
minutes  by  another  with  an  entirely  differ- 

[27] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ent  set  of  imbecile  interrogatories.  To 
give  anything  like  a complete  list  of  these, 
by  reason  of  the  ingenuity  displayed  in  the 
invention  of  new  ones,  would  be  impossi- 
ble, but  a few  of  the  commonest  are  indeli- 
bly stamped  on  my  memory,  for  instance: 
“What  do  you  do  with  these  pictures  when 
you  get  them  done?”  “How  much  money 
will  a picture  like  that  bring?”  “What  is 
that  you  are  painting  on — a board?” 
“How  long  does  it  take  you  to  paint  a pic- 
ture?” “Comes  sort  o’  natural  to  you,  I 
’spose?”  “What  kind  of  paints  are  them?” 
“How  do  you  know  what  colors  to  use?” 
“Is  it  healthy  work?”  “Do  you  like  to 
paint?”  “How  long  did  it  take  you  to 
learn?”  “Is  it  hard  on  the  eyes?”  “Do 
you  mind  my  watchin’  you?” 

Another  trifling  matter  I had  almost  for- 
gotten to  mention  is  the  extraordinary  ease 
with  which  newly  painted  canvases  may  be 
conveyed  from  one  point  to  another.  In 
this  connection  something  could  be  said 
[28] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


about  white  elephants ; but  the  simile  might 
appear  hackneyed. 

Instead  of  dissuading  you,  these  cheerful 
reminders  are  merely  intended  to  illustrate 
the  adventurous  character  of  the  undertak- 
ing, and  thus  help  to  spur  you  on.  Observe 
that  you  get  not  only  sketches,  but  good, 
wholesome  excitement  in  the  bargain. 
However,  some  of  the  drawbacks  included 
in  the  foregoing  schedule,  like  the  old  man’s 
troubles,  may  ‘‘never  happen,”  and  usually 
there  is  some  way  of  partially  circumvent- 
ing those  which  do  happen. 

Having  chosen  a subject,  begin  working, 
but  not  with  pencil  or  brush.  Within  the 
prescribed  range  of  the  sketch  measure  sys- 
tematically and  compare  spaces  and  dis- 
tances with  your  eye,  and  by  holding  a pencil 
at  arm’s  length.  While  you  are  not  bound 
to  follow  these  measurements  blindly,  be 
very  careful  to“See  that  you  lose  none  of 
their  beauty  or  truthfulness.  Decide  what, 
if  anything,  is  to  be  left  out  entirely.  Now, 

[29] 


THE  ARTISTS 


then,  still  leaving  your  brushes  and  pigments 
untouched,  meditate  on  the  proposed  man- 
ner of  treatment.  Having  decided  what  you 
are  to  paint,  consider  how  you  will  paint  it. 
Beware  of  extremely  high  and  extremely 
low  notes.  I'he  sweetest  music  springs 
from  the  middle  of  the  keyboard.  Con- 
tinue thinking,  and  think  hard,  previous  to 
laying  on  the  first  stroke,  for,  after  all,  the 
picture  is  to  be  no  more  and  no  less  than 
your  thought.  Do  not  try  to  do  what  the 
camera  does,  but  endeavor  to  accomplish 
that  which  is  entirely  above  and  beyond  its 
province. 

That  “warmth  is  life  and  cold  is  death,” 
is  an  aphorism  no  more  truthful  than  that 
tlexibility  suggests  the  one  and  rigidity  the 
other.  Hard,  stilt  lines  in  conjunction  with 
an  excess  of  cold  colors  will  positively  kill 
a good  drawing  and  obscure  an  otherwise 
excellent  composition.  A cast  iron  stove  is 
less  rigid  than  the  being  through  whose 
arteries  the  current  of  life  has  ceased  to  flow. 

[30] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


Rigidity  is  the  equivalent  of  death.  While 
avoiding  perfectly  straight  lines  as  much  as 
possible,  see  that  you  do  not  overload  your 
picture  or  get  tangled  up  with  too  many 
crooked  ones.  Gentle  curves  combined 
with  pronounced  ones  is  an  agreeable  ar- 
rangement, but  an  abrupt  twist  is  faulty  in 
the  extreme.  Presenting  a clumsy  curve 
where  a flowing  line  should  have  appeared 
offends  the  eye.  Waving  lines  give  life  to 
a composition.  How  perfectly  this  is  ex- 
emplified in  our  national  emblem.  In  de- 
sign it  is  one  of  the  plainest  of  banners;  but 
fling  it  to  the  breeze,  and,  presto!  ^ It  is  theV 
((most  beautiful  flag  in  the  world./i  When 
introducing  architectural  effects,  some 
straight  lines  necessarily  will  appear,  and 
are  pleasing  by  way  of  contrast,  but  in  these 
avoid  hardness  as  well  as  too  much  distinct- 
ness. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  which  already  has 
been  stated,  namely,  that  warmth  is  life,  do 
not  hesitate  to  employ  somewhat  recklessly 

[31] 


THE  ARTISTS 


the  glowing  hues  of  orange,  modified  green, 
yellow,  russet  and  red;  but  when  using  the 
intense  shades  of  green,  blue  and  purple,  ex- 
ercise great  caution,  and,  like  the  motorman 
who  approaches  a dangerous  curve,  go  slow. 
Just  for  the  sake  of  comparison,  observe  the 
effect  of  a minute  portion  of  blue  mingled 
with  a much  greater  quantity  of  pure  white 
pigment.  It  “tells”  instantly.  Reversing 
the  process,  mix  a modicum  of  white  with 
a quantity  of  pure  blue  pigment,  and  the  ef- 
fect is  scarcely  discernible.  Modifying 
warm  colors  by  adding  cold  ones  is  an  easy 
matter,  but  in  reversing  the  order  it  is  much 
more  difficult.  It  may  be  as  well  to  add, 
warm  colors  are  more  plastic  than  the  cool 
ones.  In  the  process  of  modeling,  blue,  by 
reason  of  its  cooling  quality,  is  used  for 
shadows;  and  in  this  department  its  free 
use,  along  with  red  and  yellow,  is  demanded. 
Each  of  the  three  primary  colors  possesses 
separate  and  distinctly  useful  properties. 
Red  warms,  blue  cools,  and  yellow  softens 

[32] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


everything.  The  warm  colors  impart  life 
and  luminosity,  while  the  cold  ones  tend  to 
opacity.  Very  light  tints  of  the  cold  colors, 
however,  are  as  luminous  as  the  warm  ones. 
Because  it  serves  to  regulate  the  tone  of  a 
painting,  blue  possesses  a power  peculiarly 
its  own. 

Some  able  teachers  of  drawing  maintain 
that  color  in  art  is  a non-essential — that  you 
should  learn  to  draw,  and  let  the  color  ques- 
tion take  care  of  itself.  While  this  in  a 
sense  is  good  advice,  because  the  study  of 
color  should  never  precede  that  of  drawing, 
yet  the  writer  is  not  prepared  to  admit 
the  truthfulness  of  the  dictum.  Pictures 
painted  by  different  artists  vary  greatly  in 
respect  of  tonal  strength.  Closely  studying 
the  relationship  of  colors  and  noting  their 
effects,  one  is  enabled  to  paint  his  picture 
with  color,  while  in  nowise  slighting  his 
drawing.  Strong  drawings  in  black  and 
white,  with  the  color  thrown  in  promiscu- 
ously are  sometimes  very  beautiful,  but  they 


THE  ARTISTS 


lose  when  opposed  to  equally  well-drawn 
pictures  painted  by  accomplished  colorists. 

Color  in  painting  occupies  a position 
somewhat  analogous  to  that  of  euphony  in 
rhetoric;  and  while  writing  does  not  de- 
pend on  the  latter,  good  literature  demands 
it.  \Miile  pictures  do  not  rely  on  the 
former,  high  art  requires  its  recognition. 
Paintings  which  show  clever  draughtsman- 
ship, and  at  the  same  time  a lack  of  knowl- 
edge as  to  color,  would  better  have  been 
done  entirely  in  monochrome. 

For  the  landscape  painter  nothing  can  su- 
persede the  study  of  nature  by  means  of  out- 
door sketching  after  he  has  completed  a 
scholastic  course  in  drawing.  If  you  would 
acquire  an  indispensable  knowledge  of  con- 
struction, values  and  atmospheric  phenom- 
ena, adhere  to  the  practice  during  your 
whole  lifetime.  The  noted  artist  who  said 
that  “nature  is  seldom  artistic,”  concisely 
and  truthfully  expressed  an  idea,  paradoxi- 
cal as  it  would  seem.  What  he  meant  to 

[34] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

say  was,  that  the  most  charming  features  of 
the  landscape,  instead  of  composing  them- 
selves into  square-shaped  sections  to  fit  can- 
vas stretchers,  will  persist  in  spreading  over 
vast  areas.  Another  painter  who  supple- 
mented the  assertion  by  declaring  that  ‘‘she 
never  is,”  went  beyond  the  mark.  Beauti- 
ful artistic  effects  now  and  then  appear  in 
nature,  but — and  here  is  the  painter’s  de- 
spair— they  are  fleeting,  a few  moments  suf- 
ficing to  dissipate  them,  and  they  are  gone 
forever.  Who  has  not  beheld  those  exquis- 
ite sunsets  above  old  ocean’s  billows,  when 
the  tossing  waves  give  back  countless  pris- 
matic fragments  of  color;  or  sat  for  hours 
in  contemplation  of  the  full-orbed  moon 
swinging  high  above  the  sombrous  trees 
and  church  spires,  now  sinking  behind  the 
clouds — fringing  them  incomparably — and 
emerging  in  such  bursts  of  light  as  to  make 
one  almost  hold  his  breath  in  awe!  Who 
has  not  risen  with  the  lark  and  gone  forth  to 
gaze  in  raptures  upon  the  splendors  of 

[35] 


THE  ARTISTS 


morning,  when  scattering  iridescent  vapors 
recalled  to  mind  the  noble  Montague’s  ex- 
clamation, “Look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east!” 
Make  careful  studies  of  trees,  fields,  de- 
crepit fences,  cabins,  swift-running  streams, 
placid  lakes,  haystacks,  archways — in  fact, 
everything  you  find  possessing  interest  and 
which  is  sure  to  be  useful.  Study  how  the 
farmer  constructs  a corn  shock  and  how  na- 
ture constructs  a cascade.  Get  after  the  un- 
derlying principles  of  construction.  Obtain 
all  kinds  of  sketches  and  keep  them,  if  to 
serve  no  other  purpose  than  as  indices  to 
mark  your  progress  from  time  to  time. 
W^hen  you  desire  to  paint  a real  picture, 
however — one  to  which  you  will  be  proud 
to  sign  your  name — do  as  all  of  the  best  art- 
ists do:  procure  from  nature  a truthful, 
pleasing  motive,  set  up  a canvas  in  your 
studio  and  paint  it.  Paint  it  so  that  it  will 
have  the  appearance  of  having  been  done 
outdoors  at  a certain  season  of  the  year  and 

[36] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

a definite  time  of  day.  Give  it  grace,  light, 
warmth,  atmosphere.  These  are  the  things 
for  which  modern  masters  are  striving. 
The  assertion  that  this  or  that  picture  was 
‘‘painted  outdoors,”  has  an  agreeable  sound, 
but  it  is  another  of  those  conventional  fic- 
tions to  which  our  attention  is  continually 
being  called.  The  work  being  good,  what 
difference  can  it  make  whether  it  was  done 
indoors  or  outdoors,  on  top  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington or  in  the  depths  of  a cavern?  When 
questioned  as  to  where  he  procured  such  and 
such  a scene,  an  artist  would  be  a calloused 
brute  who  refused  to  gratify  his  interlocu- 
tor’s curiosity.  The  flat  statement  that  it 
was  done  outdoors  might  be  amplified  by 
additional’  details,  as,  for  example:  “Yes, 

sir,  I made  that  sketch  on  the  nth  of  last 
January,  in  a high  gale,  with  my  easel  tied 
to  a red  oak  stump  directly  behind  Judge 
Gordon’s  barn,  one  mile  north  of  Fairview, 
on  Brand)Twine  creek,  Pennsylvania;  and 
my  excuse  for  blurring  the  figure  of  the  man 

[37] 


THE  ARTISTS 

over  there  by  the  fence  is  that  he  moved  just 
as  I was  painting  him.” 

Whenever  this  stereotyped  query  is  put  to 
your  humble  servant,  involuntarily  he  feels 
like  replying,  “Is  n’t  the  picture  itself  satis- 
fying  enough  without  the  accompaniment 
of  specifications  and  statistics?”  When  a 
neighbor  asks  the  peddler  passing  through 
the  alley  if  his  potatoes  are  good,  does  he 
answer,  “Xo,  ma’am,  they  are  very  poor?” 
Similarly,  if  you  must  buttonhole  the  doc- 
tor as  he  is  taking  his  leave,  to  inquire  about 
the  patient’s  chances,  naturally  enough  he 
gives  you  one  of  his  most  soothing  stock  re- 
plies; just  as  the  conscientious  lawyer,  when 
pinned  down,  will  candidly  admit  at  the  out- 
set that  yours  is  a remarkably  strong  case. 
Moral:  if  you  want  humbug,  ask  for  it. 

Go  to  nature  for  your  motive,  and  having 
found  it,  then  and  there  if  possible  lay  it  in 
as  truthfully  as  your  knowledge  will  per- 
mit, and  in  so  doing  gain  valuable  assistance. 
Nature  is  orignal  and  a splendid  auxiliary. 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


No  one  can  ever  hope  to  imagine  what  she 
will  do,  for  she  abounds  in  surprises;  but 
as  sure  as  fish  swim  you  will  complete  the 
picture  in  your  studio,  because  the  best 
painters  all  do  that.  Do  not  understand 
me  as  saying  good  pictures  are  never  painted 
in  the  open.  It  has  been  done;  but  I con- 
tend that  it  is  not  the  rule.  Some  of  the 
most  atrocious  sketches  ever  perpetrated 
were  done  “right  outdoors.”  Permit  no- 
body’s talk  about  “painting  right  outdoors” 
to  mislead  or  befuddle  you.  The  exquisite 
manipulation  and  rare  intonation  displayed 
in  the  works  of  Corot  and  Inness  do  not  look 
as  if  they  had  been  done  anywhere  outside  of 
a well-lighted,  comfortable  studio.  When 
DeNeuville  saw  an  exciting  combat  in  prog- 
ress, did  he  request  the  gentlemanly  partici- 
pants to  stop  fighting  for  a few  weeks  and 
“stand  right  there”  while  he  depicted  the 
scene  on  canvas?  Why,  your  correspond- 
ent has  seen  a marine  painter  in  his  studio 
evolve  from  his  inner  consciousness  the 

[39] 


THE  ARTISTS 


foamiest  of  waves  being  dashed  to  spray 
against  the  hardest  kind  of  rocks  in  a sketch 
that  was  realistic  enough  to  induce  a wager 
that  it  was  made  outdoors  on  the  coast  of 
Maine.  How  could  he  do  that?  Through 
having  studied  closely  wave  action  and  coast 
construction  for  years.  To  assert  that  an 
artist  can  not  draw  an  object  unless  it  is  in 
front  of  him  would  be  no  less  inconsistent 
than  to  say  that  a litterateur  can  describe 
only  that  which  is  directly  before  his  eyes. 
In  closing,  1 can  not  do  better  than  to  quote 
a good  thing  from  Mr.  Bruce  Crane,  who 
said,  ‘‘The  object  of  studying  and  sketching 
out-of-doors  is  to  fill  the  memory  with  facts. 
It  should  therefore  be  exact  and  conscien- 
tious.” 

Mdth  best  wishes  I remain,  etc. 


[40] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


FIFTH  LETTER 

An  Assortment  of  Dry  Details  Relative  to 
Composition,  Contour',  Color,  Con- 
trast, Texture,  etc.,  which  the  Reader 
is  Invited  to  Regard  as  Facts 

Friend  Normandin — While  writing 
my  last  letter  to  you  an  annoying  interrup- 
tion prevented  me  from  finishing  what  I 
wished  to  say  concerning  preliminary  stud- 
ies and  outdoor  sketching.  Having  taken 
up  the  ^Teceiver”  to  indulge  in  social  chat 
along  this  line,  and  being  not  much  different 
from  party-line  bores  in  general,  I find  it 
difficult  to  ‘Ting  off”;  which  is  not  particu- 
larly astonishing,,  when  we  come  to  consider 
that  the  theme  comprehends  almost  the 
whole  science  of  painting.  In  first  attempts 
at  this  work  one  needs  to  summon  to  his  aid 
all  that  he  knows  and  all  that  anyone  else 

[41] 


THE  ARTISTS 


can  tell  him,  and  yet  be  forced  to  sigh  be- 
neath the  weight  of  his  troubles. 

Since  it  is  the  real  foundation  of  a picture, 
the  composition  demands  your  first  care. 
Give  this  careful,  leisurely  thought.  When 
you  think  you  have  the  composition  about 
right,  and  are  impelled  by  a feeling  of  im- 
patience to  get  started,  stop  and  think  again. 
If  properly  balanced  and  its  proportions  are 
correct,  well  and  good,  you  may  proceed  to 
lay  in  the  picture ; but  if  it  is  wrong,  you  will 
find  yourself  all  wrong,  and  many  hours 
of  subsequent  laborious  eft'ort  will  be  re- 
quired to  get  you  righted.  In  the  arrange- 
ment and  disposition  of  the  lines  and  masses 
exercise  the  most  careful  judgment.  Some 
one  has  said  that  if  only  ten  days’  time  were 
available  for  the  painting  of  a picture,  six 
of  those  should  be  devoted  to  the  ground- 
work upon  which  it  is  proposed  to  build. 

Whether  a composition  is  a good  or  a bad 
one  depends  upon  the  length,  direction  and 
character  of  its  principal  lines.  An  other- 

[42] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


wise  good  painting  may  be  ruined  by  one 
jarring  line.  Knit  the  masses  together  by 
permitting  objects  to  overlap  each  other. 
Do  not  segregate  the  principal  masses,  but 
have  them  joined  together  by  some  means. 
Above  all  things  study  to  avoid  mechanical 
arrangement  in  the  distribution  of  objects; 
let  the  separations  bear  something  of  the  ra- 
tio that  two  is  to  three.  Move  things  about 
to  suit  your  projected  picture.  Should  it 
appear  desirable  to  have  the  haystack  which 
is  behind  you  form  a portion  of  the  sketch, 
turn  around  and  draw  it  in.  If  the  mechan- 
ical construction  of  the  fence  is  too  straight 
for  artistic  purposes,  give  it  a pleasing 
curve.  Preserve  the  spirit  of  the  scene — 
lose  nothing  of  its  general  truthfulness — 
but  do  not  permit  disfiguring  or  useless  facts 
to  hamper  you.  The  bread  being  good,  one 
doesn’t  have  to  bother  his  head  about  how  it 
was  baked.  This  is  to  be  your  picture — 
take  liberties  with  it;  only,  keep  within  the 
bounds  of  reason  and  give  free  play  to  your 

[43] 


THE  ARTISTS 


inventive  faculties  and  natural  good  taste. 
Whatever  you  do,  do  not  take  too  seriously 
my  remarks  on  the  subject  of  composition, 
because  books  have  been  written  along  this 
line  which  will  enlighten  you  even  less  than 
I have  done. 

Another  feature  to  which  your  earnest  at- 
tention slx)uld  be  directed  is  that  of  con- 
tours. A truthfully  drawn  outline  is  the 
very  essence  of  the  object  itself,  and  the  ad- 
dition of  but  a few  detail  touches  often  will 
suffice  to  complete  its  artistic  similitude. 
Silhouette  in  some  quarters  is  regarded  as 
the  strongest  phase  of  portraiture.  Flax- 
man  demonstrated  the  power  of  outlines. 
A fine  outline  drawing  is  the  acme  of  artistic 
craftiness  and  skill.  Get  away  from  the 
photographic  idea — as  far  away  as  possible. 
The  old  masters  never  saw  a photograph, 
and  perhaps  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
they  painted  so  well.  Photography  bears 
about  the  same  relationship  to  the  painter’s 
art  as  “canned  music”  sustains  to  symphony. 

[44] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

Think  a moment — is  not  mechanism  the  an- 
tithesis of  art? 

The  prevailing  sky  color  should  be  the 
key  to  your  sketch.  Hold  the  tone.  Be- 
neath a cool  sky  the  landscape  will  be  cooler 
than  it  would  be  were  the  clouds  aglow 
with  red  and  orange.  When  the  sky  is 
illuminated  with  red,  orange  and  yellow, 
as  it  frequently  is  at  sunset,  modify  the  cold 
greens  and  blues  in  the  landscape  until 
they  accord  with  the  prevailing  tone  of  the 
sketch,  by  which  is  meant,  do  not  paint  them 
as  cold  as  they  appear  to  the  eye.  Where 
depth  of  shadow  appears  underneath  an  ob- 
ject, like  that  of  a spreading  tree,  paint  it, 
as  the  saying  goes,  “good  and  strong.”  This 
illumines  the  color  above  it  and  serves  to 
give  distinction  and  force  to  the  work. 

Pure  yellow,  red,  blue,  orange,  green  and 
purple  have  no  place,  as  such,  in  a sketch 
from  nature.  Their  effect  is  always  cheap 
and  tawdry.  What  is  known  in  technical 
phraseology  as  brilliant  coloring,  does  not 

[45] 


THE  ARTISTS 


signify  crude  coloring.  Once  upon  a time 
when  yours  truly  was  younger  than  he  is 
now,  and  the  world  itself  bore  a decidedly 
roseate  complexion,  he  painted  a foreground 
of  such  a sanguinary  hue  that  someone  was 
led  to  inquire  if  that  was  where  “they  killed 
• the  calf.”  In  the  portrayal  of  an  object 
brightly  colored  introduce  a quantity  of  the 
local  color’s  complementary  sufficient  to 
take  away  its  character  of  rawness.  Thus  it 
is  that  all  nature  is  modified  by  the  atmos- 
pheric medium;  and  the  quality  of  atmos- 
phere in  a painting  is  obtained  precisely  in 
proportion  to  the  degree  to  which  this  sub- 
jection of  the  primary  and  secondary  colors 
is  intelligently  carried. 

The  law  of  contrasts,  referring  not  alone 
to  colors,  but  to  contrast  in  all  things,  pre- 
sents a wide  field  of  study  and  is  a citadel  of 
resourcefulness  to  the  painter.  Notwith- 
standing its  important  bearing  on  every  fea- 
ture of  a picture  — length,  breadth,  out- 
line, color,  size,  density,  texture,  action  and 

[46] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


what  not — the  law  of  contrasts  is  to  no  ap- 
preciable extent  a subject  available  for  di- 
dactic discussion.  No  rules  for  guidance 
which  would  be  worth  considering  can  be 
imparted.  The  arrangement  of  the  princi- 
pal contrasting  masses  having  been  decided 
on,  opportunities  for  the  introduction  of  a 
series  of  graduated  minor  effects  of  contrast 
present  themselves,  affording  illimitable 
scope  for  the  exercise  of  skill  and  correct 
judgment. 

Sketching  (or  drawing,  which  is  substan- 
tially the  same  thing)  is  more  of  a mental 
than  a manual  performance,  the  fatter  being 
entirely  subordinate  to  the  former  function. 
There,  we  will  say  by  way  of  illustration, 
is  an  object,  and  here  in  front  of  me  is  a can- 
vas stretcher  or  a sheet  of  white  paper — 
very  blank,  and  as  absolutely  meaningless 
as  a politician’s  pre-election  promises. 
Now,  literally  speaking,  I am  quite  unequal 
to  the  task  of  depicting  on  that  canvas  or 
paper  the  object  presented  to  my  view  pre- 

[47] 


THE  ARTISTS 


cisely  as  it  is.  This  can  not  be  done.  Even 
the  most  accurate  of  photographs  shows  an 
element  of  distortion.  The  object  being  a 
visible  thought  is  chosen  by  me  for  a pur- 
pose. Only  by  way  of  or  by  passing  through 
the  ramifications  of  my  individual  under- 
standing can  its  semblance  be  transferred 
to  the  dead,  soulless  surface  confronting  me. 
I proceed  to  draw  an  outline  of  the  object, 
and  behold! — that  surface  is  no  longer  the 
inane  thing  upon  which  we  have  just  been 
gazing.  Something  has  made  its  appear- 
ance there — something  for  tlie  eye  to  rest 
upon — a substantiality — and,  wonderful  to 
say,  that  something  was  a part  of  me,  to  the 
extent  that  it  came  directly  from  me  and 
from  nowhere  else.  Certainly  it  was  no 
portion  of  the  object,  since  that  remains  un- 
moved, precisely  as  it  was  before.  My 
mind,  however,  having  formulated  a 
thought,  must  to  some  extent  have  been  dis- 
turbed. 

It  follows  that  no  two  persons  will  ever 

[48] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


draw  the  same  object  alike.  Merely  hold- 
ing a pencil  and  trying  to  make  it  do  some- 
thing is  a precarious  method  of  acquiring 
knowledge.  Through  careful  observation 
and  comparison  earnest  students  learn  al- 
most as  much  about  drawing  without  the 
crayon  as  they  do  with  it.  The  mind  being 
first  informed  as  to  the  contour  and  other 
characteristics  of  the  model,  and  the  piece 
of  crayon  acting  in  the  capacity  of  a vehicle 
for  conveying  those  impressions  to  the  pa- 
per, the  former  may  be  trained  to  do  its 
work  nearly  as  well  at  the  expiration  of  a 
stipulated  number  of  hours  as  within  a few 
moments  after  the  mental  impression  has 
been  received. 

Colors  in  the  sky  differ  from  terrestrial 
tones,  in  that  they  are  uniformly  of  a much 
lighter  quality.  Even  remote  bodies  be- 
neath the  horizon  present  an  appearance  of 
solidity  not  appertaining  to  those  above. 
The  writer  is  aware  that  the  repetition  of 
such  obvious  truths  must  seem  absurd;  but 


THE  ARTIST'S 


from  personal  observation  it  has  been  im- 
pressed on  me  that  as  long  as  railway  tracks, 
despite  all  warnings,  continue  to  reap  their 
harvest  of  victims,  because  deaf  persons  will 
persist  in  going  out  of  their  way  to  walk 
upon  them;  and  as  long  as  supposedly 
strong-minded  individuals  are  daily  com- 
mitting indiscretions  and  falling  by  the 
wayside* — “to  err  is  human” — and  this  must 
constitute  my  apology  for  an  excess  of  solic- 
itude. It  would  perhaps  be  just  as  well  at 
first  not  to  attempt  grand  or  brilliant  sky 
effects.  Striving  to  depict  the  interminable 
scale  of  changes  in  the  heavens,  ranging  from 
perfect  tranquillity  to  the  most  amazing 
exhibitions  of  exaggerated  turbulence,  will, 
when  essayed  separately,  afford  you  enough 
to  do  without  trying  to  study  these  and  the 
landscape  simultaneously.  In  sketching 
paint  the  sky  rather  simple  and  quiet,  but 
avoid  smooth,  flat,  meaningless  coats  of 
paint.  Study  the  sky  itself,  and  forget  the 
painted  skies  you  have  seen.  Its  color  value 

[50] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


may  be  determined  by  comparing  the  rela- 
tive strength  of  tall  objects  in  juxtaposition. 

Never  leave  patches  of  nothing — that  is 
to  say,  nothing  but  paint — anywhere  in  your  ^ 
sketch.  Even  a smooth  meadow  or  field  of 
grain  possesses  texture — shows  something 
more  than  a layer  of  dull  pigment.  And 
just  here  permit  me  to  enjoin  on  you  the 
importance  of  getting  the  texture  of  what- 
ever object  you  undertake  to  paint.  The 
greater  your  success  in  overcoming  the  dif- 
ficulties in  this  department,  the  more  abil- 
ity you  will  display  and  the  higher  degree 
of  respect  you  will  command  as  an  artist. 
To  permit  some  portion  of  the  texture  of  the 
distant  hills  to  appear  detached  and  floating 
in  the  sky  is  permissible  in  the  portrayal  of 
very  high  mountains,  and  nowhere  else  that 
I can  recall ; but  a vagrant  slice  of  the  firma- 
ment meandering  across  a meadow  in  the 
guise  of  water  is  inexcusable,  because  the 
texture  of  the  sky  differs  from  that  of  water 
even  if  the  colors  shown  in  the  latter  are  but 
[SI] 


THE  ARTISTS 


reflections  of  those  belonging  to  the  former. 
Only  by  lowering  the  key  can  an  object  be 
reflected.  It  is  by  means  of  texture  that 
artists  remove  from  objects  in  their  pictures 
that  “painty”  appearance;  for  when  the  one 
appears,  the  other  is  gone.  Directly  you 
get  the  texture  of  a bird’s  feathers,  the  vapid, 
bird-shaped  contour,  which  previously  was 
nothing  more  than  a lump  of  paint,  takes  on 
the  appearance  of  a real  bird.  The  quality 
of  a Turkish  rug  is  that  of  thickness  and 
weight,  whereas  that  of  a silk  ribbon  is  thin- 
ness and  lightness.  Truthfulness  of  texture 
demonstrates  which  is  which.  A noted  car- 
toonist, in  a burst  of  confidence,  once  told  me 
that  all  attempts  on  his  part  to  paint  pictures 
in  water  colors  resulted  in  failure — “be- 
cause,” said  he,  “when  I tried  to  paint  feath- 
ers they  looked  like  stones,  and  when  I tried 
to  paint  stones  they  looked  like  feathers!” 
Should  you  wish  a more  comprehensive  lec- 
ture on  this  subject? 

[S2] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

Where  distance  appears  in  a sketch  it 
should  be  rendered  attractive  by  the  intro- 
duction of  deft,  suggestive  touches,  full  of 
meaning.  The  last  part  of  this  sentence  ap- 
plies equally  to  every  portion  of  a painting, 
more  particularly  with  reference  to  its  focal 
area,  either  near  or  distant.  Every  inch  of 
one’s  canvas,  if  one  happens  to  possess  suf- 
ficient capability,  should  be  full  of  meaning. 
An  excellent  test  for  a completed  landscape 
is  to  divide  it  by  imaginary  transverse  lines 
into  four  quarters  and  regard  the  sections 
separately.  If  the  painting  is  to  be  rated  as 
an  all-around  good  one,  each  of  the  quarters 
will  exhibit  in  some  degree  all  of  the  quali- 
ties belonging  to  a single  picture — that  is  to 
say,  each  will  have  its  highest  point  of  light 
and  its  region  of  deepest  shadow,  its  warm 
and  cool  tones  properly  balanced,  its  fore- 
ground and  distance,  etc.  Obviously,  if  one 
of  these  sections  does  not  still  remain  the 
climax  of  your  picture,  the  next  thing  in 

[53] 


THE  ARTISTS 


order  will  be  to  scrape  the  canvas  clean,  or 
permit  the  surface  to  become  thoroughly 
hardened,  and  begin  all  over  again. 

With  kind  regards  and  trusting,  etc. 


[54l 


I 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


SIXTH  LETTER 

Offers  a Few  Additional  Remarks  on 
Sketching,  and  Closes  with  Some  Re- 
flections on  Art  and  its  Attendant 
Croakers, 

My  Dear  Friend — Your  recent  commu- 
nication, bubbling  over  with  good  cheer  and 
hopefulness,  serving  to  dispel  a threatened 
attack  of  ennui,  has  put  your  humble  serv- 
ant in  a pretty  good  humor  this  evening,  and 
consequently  there  is  no  knowing,  now  that 
he  has  begun  writing  his  answer,  where  he 
will  stop. 

In  the  first  place  it  may  be  advisable  to  re- 
mind you,  while  the  thought  is  uppermost, 
that  when  sketching  outdoors  you  must  not 
overlook  the  density  of  atmosphere.  There 
is  something  very  deceptive  about  viewing 
nature  through  this  medium,  presumably 
[55] 


THE  ARTISTS 


because  our  organs  of  vision  are  so  easily 
misled  by  the  appearance  of  objects  with 
which  they  have  grown  familiar  in  the  open. 
Though  invisible  near  at  hand,  the  atmos- 
phere produces  an  increasing  visible  effect 
upon  all  objects  it  envelops,  proportionate 
to  their  distance,  with  a certainty  that  can 
not  be  ignored  in  landscape  work.  Take, 
for  example,  a field  of  yellow  blossoms  sit- 
uated some  distance  off:  as  compared  with 
the  less  glaring  hues  near  at  hand,  they  will 
appear  to  your  eye  to  be  warmer  in  color. 
This,  like  the  error  of  the  tipsy  father  who 
mistook  his  newly-arrived  baby  for  twins, 
is  an  illusion.  Objects  in  perspective  be- 
come more  and  more  modified  in  color  as 
they  recede,  and  the  tones  they  assume  are, 
for  the  sake  of  convenience,  termed  gray. 
In  the  middle  distance  they  exhibit  to  some 
extent  their  local  coloring  along  with  quasi- 
subdued  contrasts;  but  in  the  foreground 
everything  is  more  contrasted  and  stronger 
both  in  color  and  drawing.  This  is  not  only 

[56] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


theoretically  but  actually  true.  In  the  prac- 
tical application  of  the  irrefragable  princi- 
ple here  laid  down,  employ  all  the  facility 
of  your  art.  Therefore  instead  of  putting 
on  some  blue  paint  saturated  with  white  for 
distance,  clots  of  unnatural  red  interspersed 
with  crude  yellow  for  foreground,  and  aim- 
less combinations  of  the  three  for  middle 
distance,  as  tyros  do,  exercise  all  possible 
delicacy  and  ingenuity  in  the  commingling 
of  hues  and  shades  of  color,  to  the  end  that 
the  truth  though  hidden  really  is  there  and 
the  atmosphere  appears  to  be.  The  result 
when  this  charming  feature  of  technique  in 
landscape  painting  is  properly  done,  and  the 
relative  values  preserved,  is  always  inter- 
esting and  satisfying,  because  that  is  one  of 
nature’s  ways  of  adding  beauty  to  her  crea- 
tions. 

With  reference  to  objects  in  the  fore- 
ground, do  not  be  afraid  of  drawing  them  in 
too  large.  It  is  easy  enough  to  go  to  the 
other  extreme.  Keep  constantly  in  mind 

[57] 


THE  ARTISTS 


throughout  the  entire  composition  this  idea 
of  bigness  in  all  things,  but  particularly  in 
the  foreground.  Chalk  up  on  the  tablet  of 
your  memory  in  large  letters  the  word 
“Colossal,”  and  keep  it  there  as  a reminder. 
Whenever  you  find  yourself  Inclining  to 
“tinkiness”  in  drawing,  recall  that  word; 
then  erase  all  you  have  done  and  draw  it  in 
about  twice  as  large  as  it  was  before.  Work 
your  strongest  colors,  along  with  the  cooler 
half  tones,  into  the  nearest  portion  of  the 
foreground,  but,  as  previously  remarked,  do 
not  allow  it  to  appear  that  you  have  done  so. 
Tlie  concealment  of  your  handling  here  is 
one  of  the  cleverest  things  you  can  do. 
Slight  not  the  foreground,  for  upon  that  de- 
pends the  success  of  your  picture. 

To  the  beginner  the  natural  landscape  is 
such  a bewildering  problem  that  he  hardly 
knows  wliere  to  start  painting  it.  Usually 
that  which  he  sees  is  cither  too  good  or  not 
good  enough  for  a sketch.  However,  the 
difficulties  disappear — vanish  like  one’s 

[58] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


breath  on  a polished  surface — as  soon  as  one 
begins  working.  Just  at  this  point  is  where 
your  mettle  is  put  to  the  test.  The  hardest 
thing  of  all  is  the  getting  started — but  start 
you  must,  if  you  would  accomplish  any- 
thing. As  an  artist,  it  is  entirely  within  < 
your  province  to  create  pictures,  not  to  wait 
for  them  to  appear  ready  made.  The  statue 
of  a beautiful  woman  is  within  the  block  of 
marble;  it  is  merely  required  that  someone 
shall  chip  the  stone  away  and  leave  it  stand- 
ing there  revealed  to  the  world’s  admiring, 
gaze! 

Avoid  broadside  views  of  buildings  or 
other  architectural  effects.  Choose  a posi- 
tion, if  not  impossible,  where  their  leading 
lines  will  appear  in  perspective.  Do  not 
trust  your  eye  to  gauge  the  foreshortened 
elevations,  but  apply  the  simple  rule 
hereinbefore  given  for  measuring  their 
dimensions.  They  will  be  found  to  be 
astonishingly  small  in  comparison  with  the 
plane  surfaces.  Experience  will  teach  you 

[59] 


THE  ARTISTS 


always  to  mistrust  your  eyesight  with  refer- 
ence to  what  you  think  you  see.  Later  on 
you  will  be  enabled  to  perceive  the  tones  of 
color  in  the  sky  faintly  reflected  on  all  up- 
turned surfaces,  on  the  flat  fields,  the  foliage 
of  trees  and  roofs  of  houses.  You  will  learn 
to  see  purplish  or  lilac  tones  in  shadows,  and 
come  to  know  that  the  colors  in  nature  pos- 
sess a peculiar  quality  of  tenderness  and 
strength,  of  softness  combined  with  rugged- 
ness, which,  without  experience,  sound  judg- 
ment and  a mixture  of  the  three  primary 
colors  in  nearly  equal  though  varying 
proportions,  it  is  impossible  to  portray. 
Observe  closely  the  manifold  moods  of 
nature;  they  are  more  interesting  than  any 
single  scene  can  possibly  be.  Whenever 
you  find  a subject  in  the  woods  or  fields  or 
by  the  shore  that  seems  worth  preserving, 
endeavor  to  make  your  outline  tell  the  story 
of  its  form,  and  let  your  colors  describe  its 
mood. 

I am  rather  pleased  to  note  your  request 
[6o] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


to  be  informed  as  to  ‘‘What  is  art?”  because 
it  affords  me  such  an  admirable  opportu- 
nity of  frankly  confessing  to  you  that  I 
don’t  know.  However,  I can  say  that  your 
asking  the  question  occasions  no  surprise, 
since  nearly  all  young  painters  do  the  same 
thing  before  experience  has  taught  them 
that  it  is  unanswerable.  Generally  or 
facetiously  speaking,  the  real  patented 
article  of  art  is  “my  school  of  painting,” 
or  “what  I like,”  or  “whatever  appeals  to 
me.”  The  bumptiousness  thus  displayed  is 
of  a' piece  with  that  which  prompts  an  in- 
dividual to  bewail  the  lot  of  the  rest  of 
mankind,  because  they  do  not  dwell  in  his 
town  nor  live  as  he  lives.  Have  you  never 
considered  this  aspect  of  universal  egotism 
in  all  classes?  Each  and  every  one  of  us  is 
prone  to  imagine  that  everyone  else  in  the 
world  would,  if  he  were  not  so  stubbornly 
pigheaded,  live  and  do  precisely  as  he  him- 
self lives  and  does.  Humble  folks  pity  the 
great  and  great  folks  commiserate  the 
[6i] 


THE  ARTISTS 


humble,  for  the  reason  that  each  of  them 
down  in  his  heart  thinks  the  other’s  whole 
mode  of  life  a fatal  mistake.  With  what 
self-satisfied  complacency  does  your  agri- 
culturist, while  evincing  perfect  content- 
ment with  his  bucolic  environment,  dilate 
on  the  many  disagreeable  phases  of  town 
life,  at  the  identical  moment  that  Mr. 
Stone  and  his  brother-in-law.  Mortar,  are 
wondering  over  their  cigars  at  dessert  why 
the  misguided  farmer,  whose  life  at  best  is 
a sad  one,  will  persist  in  sending  the  choicest 
of  his  products  to  the  city. 

W'hen  the  question  of  “\\’hat  is  art?”  has 
been  satisfactorily  disposed  of,  simultane- 
ously we  may  expect  the  arrival  of  the 
faultless  picture,  the  immaculate  piece  of 
sculpture,  the  fiawless  poem — the  millen- 
nium! Someone  has  asserted  that  “art, 
primarily,  is  the  spirit  creative,”  which 
might  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  if  a fellow 
gets  drunk  and  creates  trouble  he  is  an  artist. 
George  Inness,  a trulv  wonderful  landscape 
[62] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


painter,  said  that  “art  is  the  endeavor  on 
the  part  of  mind  to  express,  through  the 
senses,  ideas  of  the  great  principles  of 
unity.”  Had  that  gifted  man  painted  his 
pictures  no  better  than  he  defined  this  ques- 
tion, it  is  to  be  feared  his  portrait  in  the  gal- 
lery of  fame  would  have  to  be  turned  to 
the  wall. 

Friends  of  the  cause  must  sincerely  regret 
that  a vast  amount  of  humbuggery  and  gen- 
eral  tomfoolery  is  in  one  way  and  another.'] 
associated  with  the  word  Art;  to  what  extent 
none  but  their  staunch  patrons  and  the 
artists  themselves  have  any  idea.  Responsi- 
bility for  this  rests  largely  with  a very 
knowing  and  exceedingly  important  class 
of  persons  who,  in  the  first  place,  are  able 
to  inform  us  precisely  what  Art  is,  and, 
secondly,  who  would  just  as  soon,  if  it  is 
agreeable,  have  you  to  understand  that  they 
enjoy  a proprietary  ownership  and  monop- 
oly of  the  world’s  supply  of  aesthetic  per- 
ceptions. A highly  presumptuous  set,  these 

[63] 


THE  ARTISTS 


are,  who  amuse  by  their  way  of  passing 
judgment  on  matters  about  which  their 
knowledge  is  extremely  circumscribed. 
They  are  not  patrons  of  art,  as  a rule, 
preferring  to  take  it  all  out  in  talk.  In 
truth,  I believe  that  next  to  religion  the 
love  of  that  which  is  beautiful  in  nature 
and  art  is  one  of  man’s  deepest  and  truest 
emotions;  but  unfortunately,  not  unlike 
religion,  it  is  a convenient  peg  whereon 
pretenders  are  privileged  to  hang  their 
cloaks  of  cheese  cloth. 

d'he  individuals  to  whom  allusion  is  made 
verify  Pope’s  observation  concerning  the 
hazardous  nature  of  “a  little  learning.” 
After  a brief  term  of  study  in  a school  of 
drawing,  they  have  toyed  with  brushes  and 
pigments  and  picked  up  as  much  as  their 
heads  would  hold  of  the  lingo,  and  precious 
little  of  anything  else,  \\dth  a magazine 
of  familiar  verbal  weapons,  such  as  “good 
stuff,”  “clever  bit,”  “stunning,”  “nifty,”  or 
“punk,”  “fall  down,”  “rotten,”  etc.,  they  am- 

[64] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


ble  about  from  gallery  to  gallery,  from  shop 
to  shop,  continually  on  the  lookout  for  tar- 
gets at  which  to  fire  their  diminutive  pistols. 
When  it  comes  to  registering  the  ups  and 
downs  of  art  students  in  their  community 
they  are  nothing  short  of  regular  thermom- 
eters. Mr.  Terry  Alba,  let  us  assume, 
places  on  exhibition  an  especially  happy  ef- 
fort, which  at  once  becomes  the  recipient  of 
press  eulogies.  These  our  ^‘thermometers” 
eagerly  devour;  and  as  the  seeing  of  the  new 
picture  is  a matter  of  life  and  death  with 
them,  they  rush  off  to  inspect  it  at  the  earli- 
est moment.  While  scanning  the  fortunate 
gentleman’s  strong  canvas  with  critical  eyes, 
mentally  they  are  trying  to  recall  the  news- 
paper terms  descriptive  of  its  merits  for  the 
benefit  of  bystanders.  Months  afterward 
the  same  talented  painter  shows  another 
picture  which,  alas!  is  not  quite  so  felicit- 
ous as  the  former  one.  This  is  their  cue. 
Instantly  the  “thermometers”  indicate  ap- 
proaching frost.  The  town  is  informed 

[65] 


THE  ARTISTS 


that  it  is  too  bad  about  Alba — he  has  had 
a “fall  down,”  he  is  “going  backwards”  or 
he  is  “standing  still.”  How  very  human! 
Always  ready  to  advance  somebody  stand- 
ing in  no  need  of  assistance,  they  are  the 
first  to  turn  the  chemical  hose  on  him  when 
he  does.  That  no  one  is  obliged,  however, 
to  have  serious  regard  for  anything  these 
people  say,  is  a “pleasing  bit”  of  consola- 
tion. 

How  instinctively  and  unerringly  does 
your  working  painterman  distinguish  be- 
tween real  and  affected  admirers  of  pictures. 
This  he  does  with  the  ready  perception  of  a 
storekeeper  who  knows  by  his  manner  of  en- 
tering the  shop  whether  the  stranger  is  a pos- 
sible purchaser  or  is  actuated  by  motives  of 
idle  curiosity.  Real  and  pretended  picture 
lovers  wear  quite  dissimilar  expressions  on 
their  countenances  when  being  shown  paint- 
ings. The  first  named  constitute  a limited 
though  earnest  class  of  straightfonvard,  cul- 
[66] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


tured  persons  in  every  community,  who  rely 
upon  their  innate  taste  and  fine  sense  of  dis-  ^ 
crimination  in  deciding  whether  a picture  is 
good  or  likable.  But  what  is  to  be  said  of 
those  who  permit  other  people  to  choose 
their  pictures  for  them,  or  seek  enlighten- 
ment from  newspapers  as  to  what  paintings 
they  shall  purchase  for  their  homes?  It 
must  be  confessed  that  there  exist  such  non- 
entities among  art  patrons.  A well-known 
newspaper  critic  well  asks,  ‘‘What  are  all 
the  art  study  classes  for  and  what  are  art 
lectures  for,  if  not  to  educate  people  to  a 
sense  of  independence  in  the  judgment  of 
artistic  creations.  Fancy  a woman  relying 
implicitly  upon  the  taste  of  anyone  else  in 
the  selection  of  her  clothes.”  I fully  agree 
with  the  same  writer  in  saying  that  “the 
pictures  in  a home  should  reflect  the  indi- 
viduality of  its  inmates.”  Believe  me,  I 
would  almost  as  soon  think  of  allowing 
another  person  to  choose  a wife  for  me,  or 

[67] 


THE  ARTISTS 


say  what  food  I am  to  eat,  as  to  take  from 
me  the  privilege  of  selecting  my  pictures. 

With  sincere  regards  and  well  wishes,  I 
remain,  etc. 


[68] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


SEVENTH  LETTER 

Consists  of  Digressions  and  a Miscellaneous 
Assortment  of  Views 

My  Dear  Friend — Another  letter  from 
you,  and  a welcome  one  as  usual.  The  sev- 
eral questions  therein  propounded  having 
been  given  careful  consideration  shall  be  an- 
swered to  the  best  of  my  ability.  Yes,  you 
are  doing  exactly  right  in  this.  I relish  the 
spirit  that  prompts  you  to  interrogate  me 
freely;  although  if  now  and  then  your  tu- 
tor finds  himself  ‘‘up  a stump’ —treed,  as  it 
were — perhaps  the  easiest  and  quickest  way 
out  of  the  dilemma  will  be  for  him  to  “come 
down”  with  an  acknowledgment  of  his  ig- 
norance. 

In  reading  your  communication  I came 
upon  a slightly  dissonant  expression,  giving 
the  faintest  suggestion  of  a feeling  of  pique 

[69] 


THE  ARTISTS 


over  praise  bestowed  by  somebody  on  an- 
other’s pictures,  which  has  engendered  in 
me  an  apprehension  not  entirely  agreeable. 
I shall  endeavor  to  put  this  at  rest  on  the 
instant  by  unburdening  my  mind  of  a 
thought  befitting  the  occasion.  Speaking 
bluntly,  1 would  have  you,  my  friend,  begin 
training  yourself  now  to  never,  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  allow  such  a thing  as 
even  the  shadow  of  envy  in  regard  to  a fel- 
low painter's  success  find  lodgment  in  your 
breast,  \^d'lenever  it  knocks  at  the  door, 
promptly  send  down  word  that  you  are  “not 
at  home.”  I should  wish  to  live  long 
enough  to  see  the  acute  disorder  known  as 
“professional  jealousy,”  which  acts  in  re- 
straint of  good  feeling  among  members  of 
certain  other  callings,  completely  elimi- 
nated from  that  of  the  painter’s.  It  is 
ine.xcusable.  If  such  weaknesses  belong 
ain'whcrc  at  all  it  is  to  the  lower  orders 
of  mankind.  As  well  expect  to  find  one 
evangelist  cherishing  toward  another  resent- 

[70] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


ment  because  the  latter’s  good  fortune  en- 
abled him  to  save  a greater  number  of  souls. 
Disciples  of  art,  it  strikes  me,  should  be  not 
very  different  from  ministers  of  the  meek 
and  lowly  Teacher.  Are  they  not  the 
exponents  of  that  which  should  be  as  com- 
pletely exempt  as  mother  love  or  reverence 
for  Deity  from  the  withering  influence  of 
petty  passions?  Like  the  student  of  chem- 
istry or  higher  mathematics,  an  artist’s  in- 
vestigations, leading  him  as  they  do  to 
observe  at  close  range  the  wonders  of 
creation,  must  constitute  a succession  of 
revelations  ultimately  guiding  his  mind  to 
a contemplation  of  the  Infinite.  Imagine 
an  art  student  devoid  of  sentiment  and  un- 
controlled by  depth  of  feeling  and  earnest- 
ness! As  an  anomalous  spectacle  he  might 
arouse  curiosity,  but  never  could  he  hope 
to  engage  the  attention  of  art  lovers  in  his 
creations. 

You  ask  if  continuous  application  to  your 
studies  is  likely  to  be  beneficial.  It  might 

[71] 


THE  ARTISTS 


prove  to  be  the  reverse.  As  a means  of 
helping  one  to  grasp  and  hold  the  knowl- 
edge required  to  paint  well,  a very  good  plan 
is  to  divert  the  mind  occasionally  by  more 
or  less  concentrated  effort  in  other  and  con- 
trary directions.  No  benefit  can  accrue  to 
one  who  permits  an  absorbing  pursuit  to 
usurp  his  thoughts  until  they  become  timid 
about  venturing  beyond  the  narrow  con- 
fines of  a single  idea.  It  is  not  advisable  to 
“think  shop”  all  the  time.  Music  and  po- 
etry are  stimulative,  but  1 would  suggest 
as  being  equally  good,  perhaps  better,  the 
study  of  electricity,  chemistry,  literature, 
law,  medicine,  etc.  For  in  transacting  busi- 
ness with  one’s  own  brains,  one  ought  not 
to  be  parsimonious,  for  if  tliey  are  supplied 
with  an  abundance  of  substantial  food, 
obviously  they  must  grow  and  expand.  If 
an  artist’s  advancement  can  be  in  any  way 
retarded  or  interfered  with  by  reason  of  his 
breadth  of  intellect,  then  I have  nothing 
more  to  add. 


[72] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

Changing  the  subject  again:  the  trouble 
I find  with  the  “commercial”  artist  as  dis- 
tinguished from  the  other  kind  (if  there  be 
another  kind),  is  to  determine  where  the 
one  begins  and  the  other  ends.  The  phrase, 
like  that  of  “a  wealthy  man,”  appears  to  be 
entirely  relative.  So  long  as  painters  of 
pictures  have  to  depend  on  material  suste- 
nance in  order  to  exist,  and  so  long  as  their 
productions  are  bought  and  sold,  it  would 
seem  that  every  man  of  us  and  every  phase 
of  artistic  life  is  more  or  less  “commercial.” 
Among  students  in  schools  of  art  there  is 
nearly  always  to  be  found  an  exceedingly 
choice  coterie  of  persons  with  a fixed  habit 
of  rolling  their  eyes  heavenward  while 
deprecating  “commercial”  artists.  As  indi- 
viduals they  are  “real  nice”  and  harmless 
as  fledgling  doves,  but  their  undisciplined 
spirits  can  scarcely  endure  the  bare  men- 
tion of  any  one  whose  pictures  sell.  In 
passing,  let  us  suppose  the  case  of  an  artist 
of  superior  talent  and  opportunities  who 

[73] 


THE  ARTISTS 


paints  pictures  and  sells  them  to  those  who 
admire  and  are  able  to  buy  them  at  high 
prices,  while  another  with  less  talent  and 
more  restricted  resources  paints  pictures 
and  disposes  of  them  to  persons  of  less  means 
at  lower  prices.  Is  there  any  appreciable 
difference  between  the  two?  Decidedly, 
yes.  According  to  the  gospel  of  cadism  one 
is  a real  artist,  tlie  other  a “commercial” 
artist.  Pshaw!  All  painters  sell  their 
work,  and  if  they  do  not,  it  is  because  no 
one  wants  it.  The  matter  resolves  itself 
into  another  aspect  of  the  mediaeval  doc- 
trine, that  the  good  things  of  life  shall  go  to 
tlie  strong,  which  is  a mistake,  for  the  sim- 
ple reason  that  God,  in  His  infinite  wis- 
dom, ordained  that  it  shall  be  otherwise. 

Speaking  of  strong  people  reminds  me 
of  something  not  exactly  humorous,  nor  pre- 
cisely pathetic,  but  rather  of  a serio-comic 
nature.  Probably  you  have  observed  that 
sturdy  married  couples  not  always  are 
blessed  with  offspring  who  partake  of  their 

[74] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


parents’  forceful  characteristics.  It  so  hap- 
pens now  and  then,  unfortunately,  that  one 
of  the  children  in  such  a family  develops  a 
disposition  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  a 
poser.  Granted  it  is  a boy  who  will  not 
work  and  is  disinclined  to  study,  but  shows 
a strong  predilection  for  lounging  around 
and  thumping  on  a piano  or  drawing  gro- 
tesque pictures.  His  fond  parents,  swathed 
in  vestments  of  pride  and  bearing  aloft  the 
banner  of  hope,  arrive  at  the  conclusion 
that,  inasmuch  as  he  is  so  utterly  worthless 
in  every  other  direction,  he  must  be  a born 
genius.  Somewhere  they  have  read  that 
great  geniuses  all  are  thus  inclined.  Ah! — 
a happy  thought,  and  one  that  affords  a 
most  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  reason 
why  the  youngster’s  proclivities  are  so  no- 
toriously different  from  those  of  his  broth- 
ers and  sisters.  “All’s  well  that  ends  well.” 
Their  prayers  for  a genius  in  the  family 
are  answered.  He  has  arrived! 

Should  it  develop  that  the  callow  gentle- 

[75] 


THE  ARTISTS 


man’s  capacious  intellect  inclines  to  comics 
in  chalk  more  than  to  his  favorite  diversions 
with  popular  airs  in  ragtime  on  the  piano, 
the  e'juestion  is  put  to  him  in  all  seriousness 
whether  he  would  not  like  to  be  an  artist. 
As  a matter  of  course  he  replies  ^‘Yes.” 
Had  his  answer  been  in  the  negative,  the 
doting  parents  would  need  to  have  gone  no 
farther  than  their  garden  patch  to  find  co- 
coanuts  growing  luxuriantly  on  common 
gooseberry  bushes.  ^ oung  hopeful  accord- 
ingly is  hustled  off  to  a school  of  drawing, 
where  he  hammers  away  somewhat  per- 
functorily until,  later  on,  he  is  sent  abroad 
for  a term  of  years  to  “finish  his  studies.” 
In  l^aris,  where  he  has  an  uproariously 
good  time,  he  squanders  a small  fortune, 
acquires  a taste  for  port  wine,  puts  a crimp 
in  his  Iiealth,  and  finallv  returns  home  after 
he  has  learned  to  paint  “clever  things.” 
These,  to  be  sure,  are  suspiciously  like  some- 
one elsc’s  pictures  we  have  seen  before,  but 

[76] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


being  undeniably  “good,”  they  are  accepted 
as  convincing  proof  of  their  author’s  talent. 
The  collection  of  pictures  he  brings  back 
with  him  goes  on  exhibition,  is  given  favor- 
able press  notices,  and  the  public  pats  him 
on  the  back.  Intoxication  of  success!  How 
we  apples  swim!  Two  of  his  canvases  im- 
mediately are  sold  for  round  prices — one  of 
them  to  a shrewd,  high-salaried  individual 
who  is  courting  his  sister,  the  other  to  a 
rich  uncle.  Thereupon  our  budding  artist 
takes  a studio,  furnishes  it  charmingly,  and 
occasionally  paints  a picture,  but  meets  with 
slight  encouragement.  Somehow  Ameri- 
can landscapes  will  not  lend  themselves  to 
artistic  treatment — a serious  fault,  from 
which  they  may  be  freed  in  time.  He 
misses  something — can  it  be  the  fineness  or 
the  remarkable  transcendence  of  European 
scenery?  The  public  “over  here”  exhibit- 
ing a lack  of  appreciation  of  art,  he  tires 
finally  of  the  thankless  pursuit,  disposes  of 


THE  ARTISTS 


the  costly  draperies,  bric-a-brac  and  armo- 
rial decorations,  relinquishes  his  studio  and 
seeks  renown  in  other  fields. 

Ev^ery  river  in  the  world,  conchologists 
tell  us,  produces  its  own  distinct  variety  of 
shell;  and  similarly  it  would  appear  that 
nearly  every  calling  develops  its  concomi- 
tant bores — social  curiosities  whose  mental 
vagaries  arouse  variable  emotions.  In  the 
springtime  of  his  career  there  comes  to  the 
artist  a particularly  hateful,  patronizing 
biped,  upon  whom  appropriately  might  be 
conferred  the  title  of  “Stinger.”  It  is 
pretty  safe  to  venture  the  assertion,  my  dear 
sir,  that  before  now  you  have  encountered 
a member  of  that  irritating  guild  whose 
sole  aim  is  to  disparage  you  and  cast  wet 
cloths  on  your  ambition  by  means  of  in- 
vidious comparisons.  We  will  assume  that 
during  your  leisure  hours  you  have  tried 
your  hand  at  painting  a number  of  small 
pictures,  widiout  a thought  of  giving  of- 
fense to  any  mortal.  Thereupon  you  are 

[78] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


accused  of  being  an  artist,  in  answer  to 
which  serious  charge  you  hurl  back  ^‘Not 
guilty.”  But  somehow  the  report  is  spread 
abroad  and  you  are  in  for  it.  Unctuously 
professing  partiality  for  and  everything 
akin  to  art,  comes  now  that  paragon  of 
pomposity,  Mr.  Nettle,  with  a suave  request 
to  be  shown  those  tentative  efforts  of  yours, 
which  you  are  pleased  to  grant  to  one  in 
whom  you  think  you  recognize  a kindred 
spirit. 

Bestowing  on  them  a glance  of  contemp- 
tuous indifference,  immediately  he  is  re- 
minded of  an  obscure  cousin  of  his,  located 
somewhere  back  in  the  woods,  who  paints 
pictures  ‘‘just  like  these.”  Then,  dropping 
into  narrative,  he  proceeds  to  recount  the 
wonderful  feats  of  an  artist  he  once  knew 
— much  younger  than  yourself,  a mere  boy 
— who  did  marvelous  things;  carried  off 
more  honors  in  the  way  of  badges,  medals, 
diplomas,  first  premiums,  etc.,  than  you 
could  hope  to  win  in  two  lifetimes ; painted 

[79] 


THE  ARTISTS 


with  lightning-like  rapidity  the  most  diffi- 
cult subjects;  and  obtained  for  the  smallest 
of  his  canvases  fabulous  sums  of  money.  If 
it  is  one  of  your  unlucky  days,  this  pestifer- 
ous man  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  regale 
you  with  some  casual  mention  of  another 
man  who  was,  Oh,  such  a marvel  of 
precocity,  a genius  of  the  “purest  ray 
serene”!  This  one,  when  sober,  could  not 
paint  marbles,  but  fill  him  up  with  whisky, 
get  him  good  and  drunk,  and  then  watch 
his  body  swaying  back  and  forth  in  front 
of  the  easel,  keeping  rhythmic  time  to 
the  measured  movements  of  an  enchanted 
brush,  as  he  turns  out  picture  after  picture, 
in  numbers  beyond  computation,  both  dar- 
ing in  conception  and  sparkling  all  over 
with  originality.  Of  course  he  is  dead 
now,  but — with  a sigh  of  regret — it  was 
simply  amazing  what  that  fellow  could  do 
when  he  was  living  and  in  his  cups. 

The  logical  inference  to  be  drawn  from 
these  covert  thrusts  is,  that  you  are  getting 
[8o] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


on  in  years,  and  would  better  be  nimble  if 
you  hope  ever  to  accomplish  anything;  that 
you  are  very  slow,  entirely  unknown  and  far 
from  being  clever;  that  your  pictures  are 
ordinary,  cheap  affairs,  and  if  you  expect  to 
be  rated  as  a real  genius  and  go  up  high  you 
must  acquire  the  drink  habit.  Common 
courtesy  forbids  a reply  to  speeches  of  this 
nature,  just  as  common  courtesy  forbids 
their  being  made;  but  you  are  at  liberty  to 
form  your  private  opinion  of  the  speaker, 
whilst  mentally  quoting  Betsy  Prig’s 
memorable  and  tremendous  words,  “I  don’t 
believe  there’s  no  sich  person.” 

With  renewed  assurances  of  esteem,  I 
remain,  etc. 


[8i] 


6 


THE  ARTISTS 


EIGHTH  LETTER 

Some  Remarks  on  T echnical  Education  and 
a Fens:  ITords  About  Dealers  in  Pic- 
tures, Together  u'itfi  an  Explanation 
of  Values. 

Dear  Friend — As  no  reply  to  my  last 
communication  has  been  received,  it  is  to 
be  inferred  that  your  children  are  still  bat- 
tling with  scarlet  fever,  and  that  you  are 
not  free  from  anxiety.  Therefore,  in  pur- 
suance of  a settled  conviction,  namely,  that 
it  is  easier  to  read  a letter  than  to  write  one, 
1 shall  presume  to  address  you  again. 

Renewing  the  line  of  thought  with  which 
my  former  note  was  brought  to  a close,  you 
should  be  told  that  the  genus  “stinger” 
therein  referred  to  (representatives  of  which 
are  to  be  met  with  only  at  intervals)  does  not 
constitute  the  sole  impediment  to  youthful 
[82] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

enthusiasm.  You  must,  as  you  go  along, 
take  cognizance  of  a far  more  numerous 
section  of  society,  composed  of  intelligent 
persons,  who  at  all  times  evince  polite 
though  marked  apathy  with  reference  to  the 
young  artist’s  hopes  and  aspirations.  Act- 
uated by  high  moral  or  other  motives,  the 
energies  and  thoughts  of  these  individuals 
are  given  to  objects  so  far  removed  from  the 
aesthetic,  that  beyond  a passive  recognition 
of  its  noble  purpose,  their  attitude  toward 
art  is  one  of  neutrality  rather  than  of  direct 
opposition.  But  inasmuch  as  they  are  striv- 
ing for  ideals  of  their  own,  devoting  their 
energies  to  matters  which  to  them  are  of 
greater  consequence  than  art,  their  indiffer- 
ence should  in  nowise  militate  against  the 
spirit  of  sincerity  that  moves  them.  If  a 
comparison  of  motives  were  instituted,  seek- 
ers after  ‘ffhe  good,  the  true  and  the  beau- 
tiful” will  be  found  to  be  not  so  far  apart 
as  might  appear  at  first  glance.  Truth  and 
light  are  both  essentially  beautiful,  and  art- 

[83] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ists  are  but  moralists,  if  they  only  knew  it. 
Having  dwelt  sufficiently  on  this  topic,  let 
us  proceed  to  another. 

From  the  charge  that  I undervalue  or 
lack  appreciation  of  thorough  technical 
training,  may  heaven  preserve  me.  Per- 
sonally your  humble  servant  has  suffered 
enough  to  know  what  a handicap  the  need 
of  it  is.  It  must  be  true  that  the  investi- 
gator of  today  supplies  the  genius  of  tomor- 
row, for  without  the  one  the  other  could  not 
be.  ^^'henever  conditions  are  right,  that 
which  was  intended  to  appear  does  appear. 
And  yet  I believe  that  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge can  be,  so  to  speak,  overdone — that  it 
may  be  advanced  to  a point  where  its  use- 
fulness is  forfeited  and  it  loses  itself  in  a 
maze  of  mysticism.  Undoubtedly  this  is 
true  of  all  branches  of  art  technique.  The 
most  profound  student  of  music  will  own  to 
a fondness  if  not  a preference  for  those 
gloriously  simple  melodies  bequeathed  to 
him  by  his  inspired  masters,  while  wholly 

[84] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


devoted  to  the  intricacies  of  his  art,  which 
assuredly  none  would  wish  to  deny  him. 
Someone  has  said  that  “Music  can  be  math- 
ematically expressed;  a Mozart  sonata  is 
governed  absolutely  by  the  laws  of  num- 
bers.” And  yet  knowing  all  about  the  laws 
of  numbers  will  not  enable  one  to  compose 
music  like  Mozart,  who  probably  had 
heard  that  there  is  a law  of  that  description 
for  collegians.  This  is  like  those  learned 
analyses  of  the  works  of  master  painters, 
whereby  it  is  demonstrated  exactly  how 
their  compositions  were  constructed  in  ac- 
cordance with  certain  set  rules — proving 
that  it  is  not  a difficult  matter  to  predict  cold 
weather  after  the  mercury  has  dropped. 
Your  correspondent  is  aware  that  champions 
of  exhaustive  technology  stand  opposed  to 
him  here,  and  he  is  unprepared  to  contro- 
vert them  in  their  position;  but  in  defense 
he  begs  to  say  that  he  is  merely  stating  per- 
sonal views,  for  which  he  and  he  alone  is 
responsible. 


[85] 


THE  ARTISTS 


Pursue  the  study  of  technique  to  any  point 
you  deem  proper;  acquire  a full  knowledge 
of  the  grammar  of  your  craft,  because  it  is 
required  of  you  to  do  so;  but  bear  in  mind 
that  the  great  Galilean,  first  of  all,  and  hun- 
dreds of  other  gifted  men  since  His  day, 
struck  for  that  goal  of  goals,  the  human 
heart.  Fantastically  curious  orchids  may 
delight  the  eye  momentarily,  but  a clover 
blossom,  in  the  gamut  of  beauty,  is  more  en- 
during. Learn  to  distinguish  between  art 
and  fashion.  That  which  is  decidedly  pop- 
ular now,  may,  in  the  years  to  come,  present 
a pitiful  aspect.  Compare  the  fidgety,  un- 
satisfying Japanese  school  of  art  with  that 
which  goes  to  nature  for  its  axioms.  The 
former  is  artificial,  stilted  and  decorative, 
much  of  it  resembling  child’s  play ; yet  it  has 
this  in  common  with  some  other  schools, 
notably  the  Egyptian,  that  it  is  better  than  no 
art.  An  intelligent  Nipponese  who  has  for 
a time  studied  in  the  academies  of  Europe 
and  America,  having  previously  become  im- 
[86] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


bued  with  the  forms  and  traditions  of  his 
native  art,  amuses  us  with  his  struggles  in 
the  conflict  between  the  new  and  the  old. 
Just  in  proportion  as  he  gets  away  from  the 
abnormal  and  fantastic  into  the  realm  of 
nature  study,  do  his  pictures  become  inter- 
esting. Sometimes  the  two  are  combined  in 
a single  canvas,  and  again  he  shows  them 
separately;  but  no  matter,  the  line  of  demar- 
cation is  perfectly  defined,  they  mix  no  bet- 
ter than  oil  and  water. 

Really,  there  is  such  a wealth  of  poetry, 
grandeur  and  unaffected  loveliness  in  na- 
ture, subject  to  the  law  of  eternal  change, 
that  there  is  slight  occasion  for  wandering 
off  into  regions  of  the  unknown  in  search  of 
them.  They  are  everywhere,  all  around  us, 
every  hour  in  the  day.  When  telling  a story, 
to  drag  in  a spectre  is  to  acknowledge  a 
paucity  of  invention.  Lack  of  power  in- 
deed, is  not  concealed  by  a mask  of  abstruse- 
ness. If  one’s  poem,  or  story,  or  picture 
is  meritorious,  is  also  founded  on  truth, 

[871 


THE  ARTISTS 


and  has  that  undefinable  something  which 
touches  our  souls,  it  will  always  be  good. 
But  to  stand  the  test  of  time  it  must  be  more 
than  an  exhibition  of  mere  cleverness  in  its 
technical  construction.  It  has  been  my 
good  fortune  to  see  numbers  of  modern 
European  and  American  paintings  of  such 
strength  and  tenderness  of  treatment,  along 
with  such  blending  of  realism  and  poetry, 
that  any  one  of  them  was  worth  more  as 
a source  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure  than 
all  the  examples  of  Japanese  art,  with  its 
hard  outlines  and  weird  exaggerations,  put 
together.  To  sum  up : the  writer  does  not 
care  for  simple  realism,  because  it  fails  to 
interest  him;  on  the  other  hand,  he  is  not 
an  admirer  of  lifeless  involutions.  Is  a 
thing  lovable  merely  because  it  was  diffi- 
cult of  accomplishment?  I think  not.  A 
well-known  writer  asks:  “Is  there  not  a 

contradiction  between  a too  lucid  intelli- 
gence and  the  creative  energy?  Does  not 
art  require  a portion  of  almost  animal  in- 
[88] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


stinct  that  too  much  thinking  is  apt  to  de- 
stroy?” To  which  interrogatories,  so  forci- 
bly expressing  my  plea  for  spontaneity,  I 
should  reply  unhesitatingly,  “Yes.” 

Proceeding  in  your  career  as  an  artist, 
you  will,  upon  divers  occasions,  be  called 
upon  to  contrast  the  frigid  manner  of  deal- 
ers in  paintings  with  that  of  some  effusive 
admirers  who  regard  your  work  as  quite 
beyond  criticism.  The  professional  dealer 
who  purposes  buying,  because  he  is  confi- 
dent you  have  what  he  wants,  generally 
comes  at  you  with  such  a well-feigned  air 
of  being  bored  to  death  from  having  great 
quantities  of  this  sort  of  pictures  submitted, 
that  you  are  inclined  to  bristle  up  and  say 
something  sarcastic  in  their  defense.  Re- 
alizing that  the  work  is  not  entirely  devoid 
of  merit,  and  presuming  on  his  broad  ex- 
perience, very  naturally  you  expect  him 
to  acknowledge  it.  Let  me  tell  you  that 
from  the  dealer’s  standpoint  nosegays  tossed 
to  artists  would  be  wasteful  extravagance, 

[89] 


THE  ARTISTS 


since  these  can  be  reserved  for  presentation 
to  his  own  patrons  much  more  advanta- 
geously. Should  the  dealer  see  nothing  in 
your  efforts  to  attract  him,  he  will  not  hesi- 
tate to  praise  them;  and  he  is  liable  to 
proffer  some  friendly  advice  before  taking 
himself  off',  in  the  politest  manner  imagina- 
ble, without  having  made  a purchase.  A 
certain  amount  of  experience  is  required  be- 
fore you  will  learn  to  accept  his  affected 
indifference  as  a matter  of  course,  and  to 
become  justly  alarmed  at  his  encomiums. 
There  is  a story  of  a young  farmer  who  took 
a car-load  of  exceptionally  fine  horses  to 
market.  When  turned  out  in  the  yards 
the  appearance  they  presented  was  really 
superb.  Leisurely  and  with  stolid  counte- 
nances a group  of  practiced  buyers  assem- 
bled, and,  as  they  looked  the  fine  animals 
over,  began  chaffing  their  owner  somewhat 
in  this  vein:  “You  must  know  that  just 

now  the  market  is  overstocked  with  horses 
of  this  grade.”  “Make  us  a flat  price  on 

[90] 


POINT  OF  VIEW. 


the  lot  of  scrubs.”  ^‘Do  the  breeders  up 
your  way  ever  rear  any  fine  stock?”  etc. 
Solemnly  wagging  their  heads  and  con- 
versing in  whispers,  gradually  the  dealers 
dropped  away,  till  only  one  remained,  and 
he  would  talk  of  nothing  but  politics  and 
the  weather.  Our  young  man’s  heart  sank 
as  his  anger  arose,  and  he  was  preparing  to 
ship  his  horses  back  to  the  farm,  when  the 
jovial  traders,  perceiving  they  had  carried 
the  joke  to  a point  where  it  was  becoming 
hazardous,  changed  their  tactics  and  bought 
him  out  at  remunerative  figures. 

The  writer  has  reason  to  know  that  as  a 
rule  picture  dealers  are  men  of  intelligence, 
courteous,  sympathetic  and  accommodat- 
ing; but  he  has  never  yet  found  one  who 
differed  from  another,  in  that  as  long  as  he 
thinks  you  are  to  a greater  or  less  extent 
dependent  on  his  patronage  and  favors,  and 
that  he  has  a sort  of  exclusive  proprietor- 
ship in  whatever  you  may  produce,  and  you 
are  able  to  pull  through  on  the  limited  re- 

[91] 


THE  ARTISTS 


suits  of  the  sales  he  may  make  of  your  pic- 
tures, he  remains  your  steadfast  friend, 
swearing  by  all  the  standards  of  affirmation 
that  you  are  the  cleverest  of  the  clever  ones, 
that  you  are  coming  to  the  front  like  a 
freight  train  on  a down  grade,  and  that  your 
future  is  to  be  nothing  short  of  a bed  of 
roses,  to  the  lulling  accompaniment  of  man- 
dolins and  tuneful  madrigals.  But  if  he 
discovers  that  you  are  doing  business  with 
any  of  his  rivals  forthwith  he  loses  interest 
in  your  work,  and  you  are  singed  by  his 
burning  contempt  for  the  other  fellow. 

Probably  no  technical  expression  in  the 
entire  range  of  art  nomenclature  is  less 
understood  or  more  difficult  of  definition 
than  that  of  “values’’  or  “the  value  of  the 
color,”  having  reference  to  the  application 
of  the  myriads  of  tones  employed  in  paint- 
ing. The  question  is  entirely  one  of  pro- 
portion and  consistency,  ^^d^at  the  artist 
wishes  to  imply  when  speaking  of  “correct 
color  values,”  is,  that  each  of  the  colors  as 

[92] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


it  recedes  in  perspective  sustains  its  proper 
relation  to  those  that  come  before  and  after 
it  according  to  the  quality  of  the  light  w^hich 
is  intended  or  which  is  supposed  to  be  shed 
upon  the  scene.  To  cause  an  effect  of  light 
— a definite  kind  or  quality  of  light — to  ap- 
pear in  your  picture,  aim  to  get  the  value  of 
the  color  of  each  object  as  it  would  appear 
in  that  light,  according  to  the  key  in  which 
the  picture  is  pitched.  The  quality  of  the 
light  that  the  subject  requires  determines 
your  values,  and  those  values,  if  truthful, 
produce  the  effect  of  that  light. 

One  kind  of  an  effect  of  light  may  be  pro- 
duced by  means  of  chiaroscuro,  but  it  is  an 
artificial  one  to  be  found  nowhere  on  earth 
or  in  heaven.  When  the  diffused  light  of 
the  natural  landscape,  however,  is  judi- 
ciously intensified  at  the  focal  point  of  a 
composition  by  means  of  chiaroscuro,  it 
is  calculated  to  lend  dramatic  interest  to 
the  picture.  In  remarking  a particularly 
happy  rendering  of  true  values  in  a pic- 

[93] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ture,  it  may  present  the  appearance  of 
being  easy  of  accomplishment,  but  in  prac- 
tice doubtless  you  have  found  it  to  be  the 
most  difficult  problem  with  which  the 
painter  has  to  contend. 

Trusting  to  hear  from  you  at  an  early 
date,  I remain,  etc. 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


NINTH  LETTER 

ConcernitifT  One  of  the  Annoyances  which 
Serves  to  Embarrass  the  Painter  man; 
Linear  Perspective ; Methods  of  Paint- 
ing; Atmosphere,  etc. 

Dear  Friend — There  are  days,  you  in- 
form me  in  your  last  letter,  when  to  paint 
anything  at  all  seems  an  impossible  task — 
when  your  mind,  refusing  to  cooperate 
with  the  brush,  every  movement  of  that 
serviceable  utensil  goes  wrong.  Unfortu- 
nately, it  is  impossible  for  me  to  congratu- 
late you  on  the  manifestation  as  an  evidence 
of  genius,  albeit  every  artist  undergoes  the 
same  experience.  In  the  case  of  certain 
pseudo-geniuses  not  unknown  to  the  writer, 
those  days  so  far  outnumbered  the  others 
their  lights  did  not  shine  as  brightly  as  they 
should  have  done.  Some  persons’  brains 

[95] 


THE  ARTISTS 


are  always  tired.  The  singularly  obstinate 
behavior  of  the  mental  faculties  to  which 
you  allude  is  supposed  to  result  from  reac- 
tion of  the  cerebral  forces.  It  stands  to  rea- 
son that  if  one  is  lacking  in  respect  of  such 
properties,  or  neglects  to  employ  those 
which  have  been  given  him,  he  is  free  from 
the  annoyance.  It  is  difficult  to  explain 
why  an  active  worker,  in  prime  condition, 
who  can  paint  at  his  best  for  four  consecu- 
tive days,  should,  on  the  fifth,  find  himself 
unable  to  do  anything.  Organizations  so 
constituted  as  to  be  materially  affected  by 
the  external  infiuences  about  them,  all  have 
periods  of  mental  inaction,  when  they  are 
balked  in  their  desire  to  create  something 
where  nothing  was  before. 

\\dienever  my  own  wits  take  one  of  those 
spells  of  contrariness  and  go  off  on  a 
“strike,"’  I have  recourse  to  several  meth-  ! 
ods,  one  or  the  other  of  which  usually  effects 
a change.  Idly  strolling  alone  on  a sum- 
mer’s dav  in  the  fields  and  woods,  or  taking  j 

[96] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


a brisk  walk  anywhere  outdoors  in  winter, 
almost  invariably  restores  them  to  their  nor- 
mal state;  or,  that  failing,  mingling  with 
the  crowds  down  town  and  dissipating  the 
ego,  gives  my  mind  its  needed  rest.  Should 
neither  of  these  measures  succeed  in  bring- 
ing about  the  desired  result,  suspicion  at- 
taches to  my  physical  condition,  wherefore 
the  doctor  prescribes  something  not  nearly 
so  pleasant  as  a ramble  in  the  woods. 

Entirely  independent  of  the  phenomenon 
of  these  “off  days,”  as  they  are  designated 
by  painters,  it  is  true,  and  presumably  al- 
ways will  remain  true,  that  despite  condi- 
tions favorable  or  otherwise,  the  work  of  no 
artist  is  of  a uniform  tenor  or  quality.  Ob- 
viously much  must  depend  on  his  mental 
state,  his  bodily  health  and  his  environment 
— a formidable  combination  for  influen- 
cing results.  The  artist’s  temperament, 
generally  speaking,  knows  no  intermediate 
stage  between  buoyant  felicity  and  utter  de- 
jection. Unless  he  is  happy  he  is  “blue,” 


THE  ARTISTS 


so  that  it  must  be,  perennially  for  him, 
either  heaven  or  the  other  place.  If  one  be- 
lieves everything  one  hears,  however,  he 
may  be  persuaded  that  somewhere,  away  off 
yonder,  there  exists  a highly  favored  race  of 
extraordinarily  skillful  painters  who  expe- 
rience no  difficulty  whatever  in  doing  that 
which  they  wish  to  do — a model  variety  of 
artists  who  never  err.  Every  picture  they 
paint  is  good,  their  touch  is  sure,  their  judg- 
ment infallible.  Palaver  to  this  effect 
would  seem  to  have  been  devised  expressly 
for  the  ears  of  youthful  aspirants  for  fame, 
to  make  them  believe  that  in  their  fumbling 
manner  of  painting  mediocre  pictures  fre- 
quently, and  good  ones  only  now  and  then, 
they  stand  alone,  because  away  off  in  the 
land  of  somewhere  things  are  not  done  that 
way.  You  should  be  told  that  expressions 
of  this  kind  emanate  from  individuals  who 
know  about  as  little  of  art  as  it  is  possible 
to  know.  Not  infrequently  they  will  be 
found  to  be  dealers  in  pictures,  and  not  the 

[98] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


squarest  of  dealers  at  that.  No  real  painter 
ever  gave  utterance  to  such  inanities. 
Since  the  time  when  art  had  its  birth,  right 
on  down  to  the  present  day,  the  best  and 
cleverest  of  men  have  found  a perplexing 
problem  in  the  making  of  a picture — a vex- 
atious puzzle  which  causes  them  to  worry 
over  their  canvases  till  forced  to  put  them 
aside,  to  be  taken  up  and  the  work  resumed 
under  more  auspicious  circumstances,  or 
when  new  thoughts  have  come  to  them.  In- 
deed, the  fact  of  itself  confirms  their  posi- 
tion as  such,  and,  with  ripening  powers, 
greater  demands  arise,  till  responsibilities, 
like  storm  clouds  rolling  up  from  the  hori- 
zon, accumulate  above  their  heads  for  the 
cataclysm  that  inevitably  comes  and  clears 
their  skies  forever. 

Years  ago,  when  a certain  vivacious  colt, 
who  since  then  has  grown  to  be  an  old 
horse,  and  at  present  is  occupied  in  scan- 
ning these  lines  through  spectacles,  was 
vainly  striving  to  paint  pictures  without  in 

[99] 


THE  ARTISTS 


the  least  knowing  how,  it  was  customary 
amongst  pupils  at  that  period  to  d^cry  the 
study  of  linear  perspective  as  an  abstruse 
something  calculated  to  encumber  those 
splendid  flights  of  the  imagination  wherein 
your  true  genius  is  supposed  to  be  at  all 
times  ready  to  indulge.  Men  who  know  lit- 
tle or  nothing  about  the  science  of  perspec- 
tive, and  yet  have  arisen  to  the  top,  were 
cited  as  examples  of  what  could  be  done 
without  its  aid,  at  the  same  time  that  oth- 
ers with  an  all-around  knowledge  of  that 
science  at  their  fingers’  ends  and  who  had 
failed  of  recognition,  were  held  up  as  warn- 
ings. You  know  how  easy  it  is  to  convince 
a boy  that  the  thing  he  does  not  like  to  do 
would  be  just  as  well  left  undone.  -The 
logic  is  irresistible;  and  as  it  so  happened 
that  my  precious  noddle  and  the  mul- 
tiplication table  were  not  even  neighborly, 
I fell  an  early  and  complete  victim  to  the 
prevalent  fallacy,  with  the  result  that  all 
through  life  I have  been  forced  to  halt  and 
[lOO] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


hobble  where  I might  just  as  well  have 
gone  untrammeled.  If  you  can,  my  dear 
sir,  bring  yourself  to  believe  that  my 
advice  is  not  entirely  worthless,  you  will 
accept  it  in  this  instance,  and  include 
among  your  serious  studies  that  of  linear 
perspective. 

I find  it  a matter  of  some  difficulty  to  re- 
press a smile  when  pausing  long  enough  to 
reflect  upon  the  prodigious  bump  of  self-as- 
surance required  to  enable  one  to  sit  down, 
as  I am  doing  at  this  moment,  and  under- 
take to  counsel  another  in  matters  relating  to 
art,  with  the  assumption  that  his  knowledge 
of  the  theme  is  sufficient  to  warrant  a pre- 
ceptor’s license,  when,  as  we  all  know,  art  is 
not  only  without  canons,  but  is  boundless. 
That  the  art  of  today  will  not  be  that  of 
some  future  era,  is  a pretty  safe  conjecture. 
Just  now  advanced  students  are  seeking  to 
interpret  accurately  the  aesthetic  phases  of 
what  we  call  “nature,”  in  contradistinction 
to  “life.”  The  drawing  of  something  di- 
[lOl] 


THE  ARTISTS 


rectly  from  something  is  no  better  art  now 
than  it  was  in  that  golden  age  when  the  old 
masters,  because  they  were  poets  as  well  as 
painters,  strove,  with  regard  to  figure  paint- 
ing, for  the  sublimation  of  idealism;  and  it 
is  precisely  because  they  were  uncommon 
men  that  the  world  venerates  them.  Shake- 
speare’s name  will  go  down  as  one  of  the 
“old  masters”  of  literature — and  why?  Not 
for  the  reason  that  his  work  is  good  litera- 
ture, for  numbers  of  writers  have  done  as 
well  or  better,  but  because  it  is  fiction,  pure 
and  simple — the  day  dreams  of  a gifted  gen- 
ius. i^isop’s  fables  have  survived  for  the 
same  reason.  Charles  Dickens,  the  mar- 
vel of  the  nineteenth  century,  wrote  fiction, 
but  who  is  there  to  deny  his  fidelity  to  na- 
ture or  his  wonderful  accuracy  in  the 
portrayal  of  human  emotions?  High  art 
is  fictional.  Landscape  paintings  which 
deserve  to  live  are  creations,  inventions, 
pure  fictions.  Studio  language  is  without 
an  equivalent  for  “transcript,”  or  I could 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


tell  you  in  one  word  what  a good  landscape 
is  not. 

The  old  masters  were  not  students  of 
landscape  painting  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  term  is  employed  at  present.  We  live 
in  an  age  when  renowned  figure  painters 
and  portrait  artists,  not  satisfied  with  their 
meed  of  success,  and  seeking  a vent  for 
their  consuming  love  of  the  idyllic,  must 
enter  the  lists  of  students  of  landscape. 
The  intellectual,  cultured  world  of  today 
is  admiring  nature  out-of-doors,  with  its 
changeful  skies,  its  broad  sweeps  of  sun- 
light and  shadow,  its  vistas  of  tender  color 
and  its  wealth  of  emotional  suggestiveness. 
What  that  world  will  be  worshipping  cen- 
turies hence  is  entirely  problematical. 

The  question  arises,  how  can  we,  by  fol- 
lowing in  the  footsteps  of  others,  expect  to 
be  original?  I would  not  wish  to  be  under- 
stood as  meaning  bizarre,  for  that  quality 
in  landscape  work  is  unbearable.  Any  sug- 
gestions of  freakishness  or  garish  effects  in- 
[103] 


THE  ARTISTS 


tended  to  catch  the  vulgar  eye,  in  a picture 
of  any  description,  press  against  my  nerves 
till  they  hurt.  Do  not  imagine  that  because 
someone  else’s  fanciful  flight  attracts  atten- 
tion, while  your  effort  goes  unnoticed,  that 
you  are  necessarily  on  the  wrong  road.  A 
bedizened  Cyprian  parading  the  streets  is 
the  observed  of  all  observers.  See  her  you 
must — you  can  not  ignore  the  cannon’s  bel- 
low— but  to  see  is  not  to  admire.  What- 
ever of  merit  your  work  possesses  will  be 
certain  to  be  seen  and  appreciated  by  a 
discriminating  class,  a word  from  one  of 
whom,  as  the  great  poet  has  said,  outweighs 
the  opinions  of  a whole  theater  of  the 
others. 

^^"ould  you  care  to  know  my  opinion  of 
so-called  “broad”  treatment,  importing  not 
pictorial  breadth,  but  brush-work?  Hav- 
ing one,  I am  vain  enough  to  think  it 
worth  considering.  The  ability  to  arrange 
splashes  of  pigment  so  that  a space  of  thirty 
or  forty  feet  must  intervene  before  they 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

can  be  made  to  assume  the  forms  of 
well-drawn  objects  is  uncalled-for  in  or- 
dinary work.  This  is  merely  an  exhibition 
of  adroitness,  and  adroitness  of  itself  does 
not  represent  the  soul  of  art.  Should  the 
canvas  be  intended  to  grace  the  wall  of  an 
amphitheater  or  a skating-rink,  very  well; 
but  if  it  is  for  the  drawing-room  or  vestibule 
of  a residence,  you  are  making  a mistake. 
Affectation  of  breadth  is  displeasing.  That 
there  are  always  to  be  found  individuals 
who  will  rave  over  breadth  gone  mad  is  un- 
disputed, but  these  are  only  a part  of  the 
world,  not  all  of  it.  Art  students  are  in- 
clined to  seek  solace  in  fads,  and  just  now 
this  is  one  of  them.  Broad  execution  is 
quite  commendable,  but  in  drawing  the  line 
between  breadth  and  silly  attention  to  detail, 
see  that  it  parallels  common  sense  and  rea- 
son. Does  this  idea  agree  with  my  conten- 
tion that  a thing  can  be  so  clever  that  it  is 
not  clever?  Pathos,  you  know,  may  be  ren- 
dered laughable.  ^‘Hello,  Mike,”  cried  a 
[105] 


THE  ARTISTS 


workman  on  the  wall  above  to  his  fellow 
below,  “is  the  line  plumb?”  “Yis,  sor,”  was 
Mike’s  rejoinder,  “it  is,  sor — and  two  inches 
over!” 

As  a bit  of  aside,  I would  like  to  ask  if  you 
are  partial  to  disputatious  wrangles.  If  so, 
just  find  a little  knot  of  working  artists  who, 
having  come  together  and  for  want  of  some- 
thing to  amuse  themselves,  are  discussing 
methods  of  painting  in  general.  Should  the 
views  of  any  two  of  them  be  found  to  co- 
incide, the  circumstance  may  be  set  down 
as  miraculous.  Artists  never  agree  about 
anything  connected  with  their  vocation. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  is  not  art  itself  full 
of  seeming  contradictions,  and  if  it  were  not, 
would  it  interest  us  as  it  does?  Even  our 
ancient,  time-tried  friend  the  weather,  than 
which  nothing  is  surer  or  more  stable,  has 
been  charged  with  fickleness! 

Trifling  as  it  appears,  the  question  of 
how  pigments  should  be  spread  on  canvas, 
whether  thickly  or  thinlv,  presents  oppor- 
[io6]' 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

tunities  for  most  distressing  controversies. 
Perhaps  as  good  a plan  to  adopt  as  any  is 
to  begin  applying  them  in  accordance  with 
your  own  inclination  and  let  the  fixed 
method,  which  will  come  later,  be  the  re- 
sult of  experience  and  practice.  The  avoid- 
ance of  extremes  is  an  eminently  proper  rule 
to  adopt.  Seek  the  “golden  mean,”  the 
true  philosophy  of  life,  in  all  things. 
Whether  the  paint  is  laid  on  with  a palette 
knife  or  with  a brush  matters  not,  provided 
the  color  is  right  and  your  work  is  signal- 
ized by  good  drawing.  But  every  painter 
knows  that  neither  deep,  rich  tones  nor  pure 
high  lights  are  secured  with  single  coatings 
of  pigment  over  white  canvas.  Purity  and 
depth  are  gained  by  means  of  successive  lay- 
ers of  the  same  or  analogous  colors,  a process 
that  can  be  obviated  only  through  the  em- 
ployment of  impasto.  Some  artists  get  a 
high  degree  of  luminosity  in  shadows  by 
spreading  a warm  color  over  those  places  so 
thinly  that  the  white  canvas  shines  through, 
[107] 


THE  ARTISTS 

after  which  enough  gray  is  introduced  to 
harmonize  them. 

Apart  from  this  there  are,  broadly  speak- 
ing, two  distinct  methods  of  treatment 
in  landscape  painting,  one  of  which  is 
known  as  the  tight  or  precise  and  the 
other  the  free  or  loose  manner.  Quite 
needless  to  say  that  the  first-named  style  is 
abhorred  by  devotees  of  the  loose  method, 
nor  that  the  second  is  most  heartily  de- 
spised by  gentlemen  who  paint  the  other 
way.  Personally  I belong  to  those  who 
advocate  exceedingly  free  treatment  for 
landscapes — provided  you  are  sufficiently 
skillful  and  have  studied  nature  to  some 
purpose.  If  not,  paint  just  as  tight  as  pos- 
sible. I have  heard  of  an  artist  whose 
nearly-completed  canvas  was  Hung  by  a sud- 
den gust  of  wind,  “buttered  side  down,” 
upon  a surprisingly  dirty  floor.  Filled  with 
dismay  the  luckless  fellow  seized  a brush 
and  after  working  for  hours,  lifting  ofif  here 
and  there  particles  of  smudge,  was  felici- 
[io8] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


tating  himself  on  being  about  ready  to  be- 
gin repainting  it,  though  doubting  seriously 
whether  restoration  was  possible,  when  the 
occupant  of  an  adjoining  studio  sauntered 
in.  ‘‘For  heaven’s  sake,  Brownly,”  the  lat- 
ter exclaimed  as  he  squared  himself  in  front 
of  the  other’s  picture,  “don’t  do  another 
thing  to  that  sketch.  Why,  man,  your  prog- 
ress is  phenomenal — I never  saw  you  paint 
atmosphere  so  well!” 

Which  brings  to  mind  an  outing  party  I 
once  accompanied,  where  a young  lady  with 
muddy  shoes  accidentally  stepped  on  a 
sketch  made  by  one  of  the  boys.  Hurriedly 
wiping  it  off  with  her  apron,  she,  too,  discov- 
ered the  presence  of  that  unheard-of  quality 
— atmosphere — in  the  young  man’s  work. 
Another  incident,  more  laughable,  which  oc- 
curred that  day,  was  when  the  same  girl’s  pet 
dog  got  a tube  of  rose  madder  in  his  mouth 
and  tried  to  masticate  it.  Dripping  with 
what  appeared  to  be  blood,  the  distressed  an- 
imal ran  from  one  member  of  the  party  to 
[109] 


THE  ARTISTS 


another,  seeking  sympathy,  raising  excite- 
ment and  precipitating  a deluge  of  tears, 
because  his  mistress  thought  some  terrible 
accident  had  befallen  him.  Later,  every- 
body, with  one  exception,  roared  loudly, 
d'he  exception  was  the  owner  of  the  tube 
of  rose  madder. 

\\dth  best  wishes,  I beg  to  remain,  etc. 


[no] 


I 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


TENTH  LETTER 

Gives,  Along  with  Some  Prefatory  Remarks 
Appropriate  to  the  Subject,  Criticisms 
of  Several  Outdoor  Sketches  Submitted 
for  the  Purpose. 

Friend  Normandin— The  half  dozen 
sketches  from  nature  you  sent  me  were  de- 
livered several  days  ago,  but  my  time  hav- 
ing been  taken  up  with  other  matters,  their 
examination  has  been  deferred  till  now. 
To  assert  that  it  affords  me  pleasure  to  look 
them  over  with  critical  eye  and  set  purpose 
to  discern  their  faults,  is  not  precisely  the 
thought  I wish  to  express.  More  properly 
speaking,  I am  both  surprised  and  delighted 
with  the  vigor,  correct  taste  and  spirit  of  sin- 
cerity you  have  shown  here ; and  as  for  their 
shortcomings,  if  my  strictures  in  dealing 
with  them  have  the  appearance  of  merciless 

[III] 


THE  ARTISTS 


onslaughts,  you  may  console  yourself  with 
the  reflection  that  they  are  not  to  be  looked 
upon  as  fatal  decrees.  Your  judgment,  as- 
suredly, may  be  relied  upon  to  tell  you  when 
your  critic  is  right,  just  as  it  will  inform  you 
if  there  exists  a legitimate  doubt  as  to  the 
soundness  of  his  views.  I shall  not  hesitate 
to  make  it  plain  whenever  I think  your  work 
is  good  nor  exert  myself  to  spare  your  feel- 
ings in  pointing  out  mistakes.  The  only 
feeling  that  an  artist  at  the  age  of  twenty,  or 
three  times  twenty  and  ten  more  besides, 
should  entertain  with  reference  to  the  paint- 
ing of  pictures,  is  the  paramount  one  of 
wishing  to  learn  more  than  he  already 
knows.  I'he  narrow-minded  man  who 
neither  relishes  nor  appreciates  criticism, 
who  winces  beneath  its  wholesome  lash,  and 
is  disposed  to  regard  its  author  as  merely  a 
fault-finder,  will  never  attain  a very  high  de- 
gree of  proficiency  as  an  artist.  Such  a one 
deliberately  places  a clog  upon  his  progress. 
If  he  is  satisfied  to  accept  his  own  crude  in- 

[II2] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


itial  efforts  there  is  absolutely  no  hope  of  his 
ever  getting  beyond  them. 

To  the  oldest  as  well  as  the  ablest  of  paint- 
ers a gratuitous,  friendly  criticism,  from 
whatever  source,  is  always  welcome — it  is  so 
suggestive  of  getting  something  for  nothing; 
and  if  that  is  not  a veritable  characteristic  of 
our  species  of  animal,  where  shall  we  look 
for  one?  When  you  have  worked  for  hours 
with  extreme  caution  around  a certain  spot 
with  a determination  not  to  spoil  what  you 
are  pleased  to  consider  a charming  effect  in 
your  picture,  it  is  refreshing,  though  slightly 
jarring,  to  have  an  acquaintance  enter  and 
proceed  to  express,  unhesitatingly  and  with- 
out equivocation,  his  disapproval  of  that 
particular  portion.  But  mark  you : the  mo- 
ment your  visitor  asserts  that  it  is  wrong — 
that  it  is  too  dark,  too  light,  too  warm,  too 
cold,  or  too  something  else — instantly  you 
are  disillusioned  and  you  perceive  it  as  he 
does.  Have  you  never  experienced  this? 
Absorbed  as  he  probably  is  in  the  task  of  at- 

® [113] 


THE  ARTISTS 


tending  to  details,  the  toiler  is  prone  to 
overlook  the  impression  his  product  in  its 
entirety  will  produce  on  a pair  of  eyes  be- 
holding it  for  the  first  time.  Instead  of 
scanning  it  for  blemishes,  instinctively  a 
fresh  eye  sweeps  the  canvas  in  search  of 
whatever  is  good;  so  far  from  being  cap- 
tiously inclined,  it  is  more  likely  to  be  over- 
charitable  in  its  desire  to  imagine  it  sees 
something  where  nothing  really  is,  aside 
from  some  variegated  splashes  of  paint  re- 
motely suggesting  a picture. 

In  this  connection  it  must,  however,  be 
conceded  that  there  are  criticisms  and  also 
criticisms.  One  of  my  own  studies  was  once 
the  recipient  of  a comment  that  for  naivete 
and  originality  impressed  me  greatly.  It 
was  during  an  unusually  wet  summer  that  a 
gentleman  gave  an  order  for  a large  oil. 
^^dlen  done  he  had  it  framed  and  placed 
over  a mantel  in  their  drawing-room  as  a 
surprise  for  his  aged  mother,  who  was  ab- 
sent from  home  at  the  time.  Meeting  that 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


estimable  lady  on  her  return  and  mentally 
noting  that  during  our  conversation  she 
made  no  mention  of  it,  finally  I could  no 
longer  refrain  from  asking,  point-blank, 
how  she  liked  the  new  picture.  “Oh,” 
came  the  answer,  “I  think  it  very  good — 
yes,  it  is  a very  good  picture  indeed;  but  I 
must  candidly  confess  that  I do  not  like  your 
thunder  clouds,  because  you  know  we  have 
had  so  much  rain  this  season  that  really  I 
can’t  bear  to  look  at  them !”  Every  time  the 
good  woman’s  glance  alighted  on  my  sum- 
mer clouds  surcharged  with  humidity,  not 
unlikely  she  shuddered  at  the  very  thought 
of  another  storm.  Tributes  sometimes  come 
disguised. 

Returning  to  our  sketches,  you  will  find 
that  I have  taken  the  liberty  of  numbering 
them  from  one  to  six,  giving  to  each  as 
nearly  as  possible  a rating  numerically  the 
reverse  of  its  artistic  value.  Number  one, 
'therefore,  possessing  the  least  merit,  I shall 
take  up  first,  reserving  number  six  to  be 
[IIS] 


THE  ARTISTS 


passed  over  to  you  last  as  an  agreeable  des- 
sert of  pie  or  pudding  with  plums  in  it.  As 
it  is  so  much  the  weakest  example  in  the  se- 
ries, slight  difficulty  would  be  found  in 
imagining  number  one  to  have  come  from 
the  hand  of  another,  were  it  not  that  every 
artist’s  work  is  more  or  less  uneven.  Like 
good  breakfast  bacon,  he  alternates  his 
streaks  of  fat  with  an  occasional  one  of  lean. 
To  begin  with,  your  sky  is  much  too  blue. 
You  never  saw  a real  sky  the  color  of  the  one 
here  depicted.  You  only  thought  you  saw 
it.  Looking  upward  on  a perfectly  clear 
day  we  gaze  through  a transparent  luminous 
medium,  somewhat  aqueous,  into  an  illimi- 
table region  of  ether  beyond.  As  the  sun 
shines  on  the  minute  particles  of  moisture 
with  which  our  restless  atmosphere  is 
cliarged,  the  sky  presents  a quality  of  color 
that  is  anything  but  distinctly  blue.  Once 
I had  to  pass  daily  along  a certain  sidewalk 
across  which  had  been  placed  a sign  bearing 
the  word  “Tinsmith'’  in  large  letters  of  sil- 

[ii6] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


ver.  These  letters,  although  absolutely 
opaque,  invariably  gave  me  the  impression, 
whenever  they  caught  my  eye,  of  being 
openings  in  the  signboard  through  which 
the  sky  could  be  seen.  Then  and  there  your 
humble  servant  learned  his  lesson,  to  wit, 
that  a clear  sky  in  summer  or  autumn  comes 
nearer  being  the  color  of  silver  than  any 
other  material  to  which  it  can  be  likened. 
A mere  suspicion  of  blue  permeating  a 
sunny,  cloudless  sky  is  legitimate,  certainly, 
but  it  must  be  as  the  touch  of  a fairy. 
Where  the  firmament  shows  through  rifts  of 
white  cumulous  clouds  in  spring,  a tone  of 
color  approaching  blue  sometimes  appears, 
but  even  this  is  apt  to  mislead  the  eye;  its 
hue  is  many,  many  removes  from  that  of 
pure  pigment.  Having  found  the  correct 
prevailing  tone,  a kind  of  tremulousness,  ob- 
tained by  the  intermingling  of  different 
shades  of  the  same  or  analogous  colors,  in 
the  sky  is  excellent  because  true.  Extreme 
softness  in  color  and  contour  throughout 

fiiy] 


THE  ARTISTS 

should  characterize  the  handling  of  cloud 
forms. 

Now,  sir,  having  knocked  in  the  head, 
drawn,  quartered  and  hung  up  in  the  smoke 
house  your  beautiful  blue  sky  in  the  picture 
under  consideration,  let  us  proceed  to  see 
what  there  is  to  attack  in  the  distance.  If 
the  latter  were  distinguished  by  fewer  faults 
it  would  be  not  uninteresting.  For  the  most 
part  it  is  sufficiently  gray,  soft,  misty  and 
atmospheric;  but  the  trees  on  the  left  at 
the  base  of  the  hills  are  not  correct  in 
value,  being  too  strong  for  the  position 
they  occupy.  The  most  palpable  fault, 
however,  lies  in  the  range  of  hills  them- 
selves, standing  up  there  so  regularly,  one, 
two,  three,  four,  like  cadets  on  parade. 
Doubtless  when  sketching  them  they  ap- 
peared that  way;  but  you  should  have  done 
something  to  break  their  monotony.  A 
couple  of  good,  sweeping  strokes  with  a 
large  flat  brush  'carrying  sky  color  and 
placed  just  right  would  have  accomplished 

[ii8] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


wonders  in  the  way  of  redemption.  And 
then,  too,  their  entire  outline  is  unduly  dis- 
tinct. The  natural  appearance  of  your  row 
of  hills  would  have  been  improved  had  you 
merged  them  into  the  sky  at  intervals  till 
they  were  all  but  lost.  Away  off  to  the  right 
there  is  to  be  seen  a something  which  gives 
rise  to  conjecture  as  to  whether  it  really  is  a 
sheet  of  water  or  an  exotic  variety  of  grass. 
A trifle  more  of  precision  here  would  have 
set  at  rest  all  conflicting  doubts.  Really, 
the  whole  trouble  with  this  distant  view  is 
that  you  have  shown  too  much  precision  in 
places  where  it  was  uncalled  for,  and  hardly 
enough  in  others  where  it  was  actually 
needed. 

Taking  up  the  middle  distance  in  this 
drawing,  a single  criticism  of  a somewhat 
sweeping  character  will  suffice.  Your  mid- 
dle distance  is  so  restricted  that  it  would 
seem  as  if  some  portion  of  it  must  have  been 
omitted,  either  intentionally  or  accidentally. 
What  there  is  of  it  is  good.  Coming  thus 

[119] 


THE  ARTISTS 


to  the  foreground,  very  little  can  be  offered 
in  the  way  of  commendation.  The  effect 
is  easy  and  natural  where  those  bits  of  red 
clay  show  through  the  grass,  and  your  trees 
are  gracefully  formed.  But  the  whole  ef- 
fect is  spoiled  by  an  excess  of  cold  gray  col- 
ors prevailing  throughout.  The  absence  of 
red  and  yellow — those  warm,  life-giving 
hues — is  felt  at  a glance.  Across  the  fore- 
ground extends  a shadow  that  has  not 
sufficient  red  in  it  to  modify  the  shades  of 
green  with  which  it  is  so  abundantly  sup- 
plied. Hardness  of  outline  characterizes 
the  road  leading  from  the  immediate  fore- 
ground into  the  picture;  but  this  is  by  no 
means  an  uncommon  error  for  a beginner 
to  make,  since  about  one-half  the  pictures 
to  be  seen  hanging  in  residences  exhibit  the 
same  fault.  Contrasted  with  the  adjacent 
herbage,  our  roadway  is  sadly  lacking  also 
in  strength  of  color.  Automobiles  and 
heavily  laden  wagons  supposedly  pass  along 
here,  for  which  reason  the  road  ought  to 

[l20] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


look  as  if  it  were  solid  enough  to  sustain 
them.  Ordinary  dirt  roads  must  be  made 
to  appear  as  solid  as  the  earth  beneath  the 
grass.  A load  of  corn,  for  instance,  can  not 
be  conveniently  transported  over  a roadbed 
of  unbleached  muslin. 

The  asseveration  that  this  sketch  is  the 
worst  of  all  should  not  be  taken  as  a con- 
demnation of  everything  in  it.  Several 
good  features  present  themselves,  not  the 
least  of  which  is  the  drawing  of  the  trees  in 
the  foreground.  Stately,  well-balanced  and 
symmetrical  in  contour,  agreeably  massed 
and  modeled,  this  clump  is  at  once  dignified 
and  engaging,  only  wanting  additional 
warmth  of  color  to  place  it  beyond  my 
power  of  criticism.  A commendable  fea- 
ture is  the  region  contiguous  to  where  your 
roadway  disappears  down  the  hill,  because 
something  is  here  left  for  the  imagination. 
If  you  will  kindly  take  the  trouble  to  search 
for  the  reason  why  number  one  is  your  least 
successful  out-door  sketch,  no  doubt  you 

[I2l] 


THE  ARTISTS 


will  find  it  lies  in  the  fact  that  you  began 
wrong.  The  intensely  blue  key  in  which 
it  is  pitched  being  at  fault,  you  were  all  the 
while  working  uphill,  so  to  speak. 

I shall  have  to  stop  writing  now,  but  you 
shall  hear  from  me  again  soon.  With  sin- 
cere regards,  etc. 


[122] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


ELEVENTH  LETTER 

Concludes  the  Criticisms  of  the  Outdoor 
Sketches 

Dear  Friend — Today  I showed  your 
collection  of  pastoral  sketches  to  an  intimate 
artist  friend  who  happened  in.  I must  con- 
fess that  this  was  a violation  of  confidence, 
but  did  it  in  hopes  he  would  aid  my  criti- 
cisms. The  only  declaration  I got  from 
him  was  that  they  were  excellent. 

In  sketch  number  two,  entitled  ‘‘The 
Canal,”  the  most  serious  error  is  again  one 
of  values.  Your  landscape,  which  is  pretty 
good  in  spots,  and  your  sky,  which  is  not 
at  all  bad,  do  not  hang  together.  Either 
the  latter  is  too  high  or  the  scene  beneath 
it  is  too  low  in  key;  and  as  a consequence 
the  water  in  the  canal,  although  correct  in 
value  as  to  the  sky,  is  out  of  harmony  with 
[123] 


THE  ARTISTS 


its  banks  and  other  surroundings.  If  the 
tone  of  both  the  sky  and  water  are  lowered 
till  they  accord  with  the  rest  of  the  scene, 
I think  you  will  find  this  picture  improved 
about  sixty  per  cent.  Work  some  touches 
of  subdued  gray  tones  into  the  immediate 
foreground,  and  observe  if  it  is  not 
rendered  more  agreeable  to  the  eye.  The 
mechanical  iron  bridge  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance doubtless  is  a serviceable  one,  and  is 
well  worth  the  money,  but  inasmuch  as  it 
detracts  from  the  picture’s  interest  rather 
tlian  adds  to  it,  it  would  just  as  well  have 
been  overlooked  when  you  were  drawing 
the  scene.  I like  the  way  in  which  you 
have  handled  the  towpath;  its  treatment  is 
simple,  as  it  should  be,  and  the  color  is 
good.  A few  additional  touches  of  warm 
color  at  the  horizon  would  have  imparted 
to  the  sky  a more  natural  appearance. 
The  delicate  glow  was  there,  even  if  you 
failed  to  perceive  it.  A sky  of  this  descrip- 
tion is  always  warmer  at  that  point.  Some 

[124] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


of  the  trees  are  rather  more  suggestive  of 
paint  than  verdure,'  due  to  a lack  of  model- 
ing. 

The  opportunity  of  directing  your  atten- 
tion to  something  you  have  done  in  this 
sketch  which  appears  in  none  of  the  others 
can  not  be  neglected.  Although  by  no 
means  a fatal  mistake,  it  is  serious  enough 
to  warrant  mention.  Your  signature  at 
the  bottom  of  the  picture  is  a trifle  larger 
than  necessary.  This  caution  is  offered 
with  a view  to  all  your  future  work. 
Probably  you  recollect  David  Harum’s 
quaint  motto.  Very  well;  when  it  comes 
to  signing  your  name,  just  consider  that  if 
it  is  a little  too  small  it  is  about  right. 
The  idea  was  hit  off  very  neatly  in  a news- 
paper squib,  accompanied  by  an  illustra- 
tion. A woman  is  standing  in  an  artist’s 
studio  viewing  a picture  on  that  gentle- 
man’s easel.  “Why,  Mr.  Stretcher,”  she 
exclaimed,  “this  little  sketch  is  so  very 
good  that  I should  think  you  would  sign 
[I2S] 


THE  ARTISTS 


it.”  “I  have  signed  it;  don’t  you  see,”  re- 
joined the  painter.  “Oh!  really,”  she 
cried,  “I  beg  your  pardon;  I thought  that 
was  a part  of  the  fence!”  Nor  will  a bet- 
ter occasion  ever  offer  than  right  now, 
perhaps,  for  making  a suggestion  with 
reference  to  bestowing  titles  on  pictures. 
In  designating  by  name  your  more  ambi- 
tious canvases,  endeavor  to  select  only  those 
which  are  appropriate  and  as  truly  de- 
scriptive of  the  subject  as  possible.  A 
misleading  or  far-fetched  title  given  to  any 
artistic  or  literary  production  is  in  ques- 
tionable taste.  As  the  sketches  arranged 
here  in  front  of  me  are  properly  named, 
these  last  remarks  do  not  apply  to  them. 

Sketch  number  three,  entitled  “Autumn 
near  Beechwood,”  has  some  good  points. 
No  improvement  could  be  suggested  on 
the  grouping  of  the  farm  buildings  nor 
their  color,  unless  it  were  to  say  that  some 
added  effects  of  slightly  contrasting  light 
and  shade  would  have  brightened  them  a 
[126] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


bit.  They  are  almost  too  quiet.  If  you 
should  adopt  my  suggestion  and  make  this 
change,  handle  them  as  gently  as  you  would 
a bumblebee.  The  farm  horse  engaged 
in  drinking  from  a stone  trough  beside 
the  barn,  together  with  the  spring  wagon 
to  which  the  animal  is  hitched,  form  an 
effective  group;  but  if  they  had  been 
treated  with  less  sharpness  of  outline,  you 
would  have  shown  consideration  for  the 
unities. 

“The  Old-Time  Tavern,”  sketch  num- 
ber four,  presents  a well-balanced  compo- 
sition; but  the  shadow  of  the  large  tree 
cast  conspicuously  across  the  road  is  much 
too  warm,  particularly  at  its  edges,  where 
it  should  have  been  cooler.  The  trees 
near  the  inn  are  stiff  and  conventional. 
Since  the  edifice  itself  displays  a number 
of  straight  lines,  that  was  good  and  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  avoidance  of  anything 
like  rigidity  in  the  neighboring  trees. 
This  is  one  of  those  places  where  that  un- 
[127] 


THE  ARTISTS 


definable  rule  of  contrast  applies.  Your 
treatment  of  the  sky  and  distant  effect  is 
extremely  happy,  because  it  shows  snap 
and  crispiness  and  good  color  values. 
Had  these  qualities  been  carried  into  the 
rest  of  the  picture,  you  would  have  had  a 
fine  thing.  As  a matter  of  fact  the  values 
elsewhere  are  at  fault.  How  can  you,  for 
example,  reconcile  those  brown  shadows  in 
your  large  tree  with  its  cool  green  foliage 
in  sunlight — or  this  same  foliage  with  your 
yellow-toned  sky?  Are  you  quite  sure  that 
they  appeared  that  way  in  nature?  The 
stones  beside  the  roadway  should  have 
more  warmth ; they  are  much  too  blue. 
This  is  another  of  those  pitfalls  into  which 
it  is  only  too  easy  to  stumble. 

Sketch  number  five,  “Shady  Brook,”  is 
the  first  to  show  harmony  in  its  general  tone. 
It  possesses  atmosphere,  because  you  kept 
your  colors  subdued  and  well  in  hand. 
The  color  values  of  sky  and  earth  are  good 
as  related  to  each  other.  The  board- 
[128] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


covered  rustic  bridge  at  the  extreme  right- 
hand  side  of  the  sketch  is  well  drawn  and 
sufficiently  “shaky.”  Your  reflections  of 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  brook  betray  an 
excess  of  blue,  while  the  shadows  cast  upon 
the  ground  from  the  overhanging  willows 
are  hardly  blue  enough.  These  willow 
trees,  by  the  way,  are  cleverly  done,  evinc- 
ing conscientious  study  of  the  subject. 
More  breadth  of  treatment  throughout 
would  have  strengthened  the  sketch  and  en- 
hanced its  beauty.  You  must  strive  for 
breadth,  simplicity,  fidelity.  By  reason  of 
the  middle  distance  being  so  well  done  and 
made  so  interesting,  the  entire  absence  of 
distance  is  scarcely  noticeable. 

We  are  now  come  to  number  six,  the 
last  and  decidedly  best  sketch  of  the  lot. 
As  it  is  without  a title  I am  left  to  infer 
that  you  thought  it  hardly  worth  naming. 
An  all-around  clever  production  of  this 
kind  should  serve  as  a motive  for  a canvas 
of  sterling  merit,  and  bring  its  author  a 
’ [129] 


THE  ARTISTS 


good  price;  but  it  will  not,  because  the 
very  boldness  of  its  simplicity  and  the  total 
absence  of  claptrap  precludes  any  likeli- 
hood of  its  ever  being  sold  to  anybody  at 
any  price.  The  public  buys  works  of  art 
possessing  some  of  the  elements  of  poetry; 
but  if  these  should  happen  to  be  real  gems 
they  are  passed  by  as  not  offering  quite 
enough  for  the  money.  This  is  one  of 
those  pictures  in  which  the  artist  would 
seem  to  have  had  something  to  tell,  and  has 
not  only  told  it,  but  did  so  in  a creditable 
manner. 

I'hat  richly  colored  mass  of  shimmering 
green  trees  in  the  middle  distance  stays 
where  it  belongs,  shows  good  depth  and  is 
refreshingly  cool,  suggesting  possibilities 
as  to  young  squirrels  and  pink  anemones. 
An  interesting  brooklet  meandering  across 
the  meadow  loses  itself  occasionally 
amongst  the  sedges  as  it  flows  toward  the 
foreground.  I feel  sure  that  the  source  of 
this  stream  is  hemmed  about  with  beds  of 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


velvety  moss  and  water  cress.  In  the  open 
field  to  the  right  are  a number  of  lights  and 
shadows  thrown  in  promiscuously,  from 
which  my  wayward  fancy  evolves  a group 
of  Industrious  yeomen  employed  in  thresh- 
ing grain.  I can  almost  imagine  Hank 
Smithers,  who  is  feeding  the  machine,  re- 
marking to  Zeb.  Hawkins  on  the  wagon, 
in  a tone  sufficiently  loud  to  be  heard 
above  the  din,  that  he  ‘‘reckons  ther  ain’t 
a purtier  gal  in  this  county  than” — and 
then  .the  sound  is  carried  away  by  the  veer- 
ing breeze,  leaving  everybody  to  the 
windward  in  an  exasperating  state  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  charmer’s  identity.  And 
that  luscious,  dreamy  stretch  of  distance! 
What  really  is  there  I am  unable  to  say,  but 
what  I think  I see  is  a broad  valley  covered 
with  fields  and  blackbirds  and  trees  and 
fences  and  clusters  of  cottages  and  church 
spires,  over  and  beyond  which  spreads  a 
gray  mist  enveloping  the  receding  hills. 
You  perceive  now  where  and  how  you  have 

[131] 


THE  ARTISTS 

succeeded.  Your  sketch  of  this  scene  is 
true  in  tone  and  values,  and  is  so  freely  and 
dextrously  drawn  that  it  is  not  only  “all 
there,”  but  abounds  in  that  rare  quality 
known  as  suggestiveness,  which  enables  the 
beholder  to  see  things  the  artist  did  not  ex- 
pect him  to  see. 

By  the  way,  I wish  you  could  inform  me 
where  you  obtained  the  fine  wood  panels 
used  in  the  making  of  these  sketches.  I 
strongly  suspect  they  were  the  handiwork 
of  some  honest  worker  in  Beechwood  (may 
his  tribe  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  race 
suicide!),  and  if  so,  1 am  going  to  ask  you 
to  request  him  to  make  at  his  convenience 
a couple  of  dozen  just  like  these,  and  for- 
ward them  to  me  with  his  bill.  There  is 
nothing  better  for  outdoor  sketching  than 
well-seasoned  panels. 

Your  sketches  are  being  returned  by  ex- 
press to-day.  Trusting  they  may  reach  you 
unharmed,  I beg  to  remain,  etc. 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


TWELFTH  LETTER 

Concerning  Foggy  Seasons,  the  Genius  of 
the  Garret,  and  Artists  Generally 

Dear  Friend — You  have  no  occasion  to 
render  such  profuse  thanks  for  those  feeble 
criticisms,  since  to  me  the  pleasure  of  scan- 
ning your  sketches  in  search  of  them  was 
unalloyed,  I can  assure  you.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  my  indifferently  expressed 
hints  may  prove  helpful  to  one  who  esteems 
them  as  you  do.  And  while  I think  of  it, 
there  is  a trifling  matter  having  reference 
to  your  treatment  of  shadows  which.  I 
omitted  to  mention  in  its  proper  place. 
Paint  these  broadly  and  in  masses,  permit- 
ting soft,  uncertain  lights  to  creep  into 
them  here  and  there  just  sufficient  to  break 
their  boundary  lines.  Shadow  is  a thing 
to  be  felt  rather  than  seen.  I recall,  too, 

[133] 


THE  ARTISTS 


that  all  of  your  outdoor  work  would  appear 
to  have  been  done  in  clear  weather — in 
fact,  if  I must  say  it,  in  painfully  clear 
weather.  It  is  advisable  to  keep  a portable 
sketching  outfit  constantly  in  readiness  to 
take  advantage  of  hazy  or  foggy  periods. 
If  there  ever  comes  a moment  when  sketch- 
ing from  nature  yields  true  gratification  it 
is  when  billowy  hills  and  tree  tops  come 
peeping  through  the  fog.  At  such  a season 
the  so-called  “simple  child  of  nature”  finds 
his  gentle  recompense.  The  concrete  world 
is  then  abandoned  for  an  unreal,  intangible 
one,  wherein  unrestrained  fancy  rules  the 
market  and  prosy  facts  go  for  a song. 
What  delicious  views  of  the  river  and  of 
fading  forests  pitching  downward  into  seas 
of  silvery  mist,  and  of  shadowy  hayricks 
and  dreamy  clusters  of  farm  buildings 
present  themselves  to  the  sketcher’s  en- 
raptured gaze!  How  eagerly  and  all 
aglow  with  excitement  he  unstraps  his 
kit,  and  with  nervous  fingers  hurriedly 

[134] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


‘‘goozles”  the  pigments  over  his  palette  in 
an  overwhelming  anxiety  to  seize  some 
portion  of  the  many  catchy  motives  abound- 
ing on  every  hand;  and  plunging  into  the 
midst  of  them,  how  lost  he  becomes  and 
oblivious  alike  to  the  flight  of  time  or  the 
affairs  of  men.  Well  may  he  then  ex- 
claim, “The  world  is  mine!”  for  it  is  all 
here  in  front  of  him,  with  nothing  to  be 
seen  beyond  those  faintly  outlined  vistas 
of  river,  vanishing  woods  and  unsub- 
stantial stacks  and  houses.  After  foggy 
days  the  next  best  are  the  clear  ones  suc- 
ceeding prolonged  rains,  when  pools  of  wa- 
ter gleaming  in  ruts  and  ditches  along 
the  roadways  present  here  and  there 
touches  of  sky  color  and  a pleasing  variety 
of  broken  reflections  to  animate  the  land- 
scape. 

In  the  miscellaneous  assortment  of  queer 
objects  passing  along  life’s  dusty  turnpike, 
not  infrequently  we  meet  persons  of  intelli- 
gence who,  despite  evidences  to  the  con- 
[I3S] 


THE  ARTISTS 


trary  which  are  manifest  every  mile  of 
the  way,  cling  to  a set  of  exploded  hand- 
me-downs  in  the  shape  of  ancient  saws, 
among  which  is  the  one  about  necessity  be- 
ing “the  mother  of  invention.”  From 
this  moldy  source  comes  the  erroneous 
idea  that  if  you  would  bring  out  of  him  the 
best  that  there  is  in  him,  take  care  to  place 
your  artist  (whose  clay  is  different  from 
the  rest  of  mankind)  on  a meager  diet  of 
boiled  potatoes,  sans  butter,  and  relegate 
him  to  a garret;  for  if  by  any  chance  he 
succeeds  in  getting  a few  dollars  ahead  he 
will  decline  to  “invent.”  I don’t  believe 
it.  No  man  whose  mind  is  distracted  by  a 
lack  of  the  needful  to  supply  his  daily 
wants  can  paint  his  best  pictures.  On  the 
contrary  the  writer  knows  from  actual  ex- 
perience that  nothing  is  so  conducive  to  an 
optimistic  spirit  nor  so  stimulative  to  the 
creative  faculties  as  the  knowledge  that 
one’s  absolute  necessities  are  provided  for. 
Were  the  adage  true,  the  merchant  with 

[136] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


the  least  number  of  patrons  would  be  the 
most  enterprising,  and  as  a consequence 
would  have  the  best  store;  and  the  lawyer 
yearning  for  clients  would  be  the  most 
successful  pleader  and  occupy  the  finest 
suite  of  offices.  But  that  would  be 
getting  things  reversed  from  the  usual 
order.  Human  nature  is  human  nature, 
and  nobody  calls  up  a doctor  who  never 
has  patients.  The  moderately  prosperous 
painter  is  better  equipped  to  produce  good 
work  than  his  less  fortunate  brother  who 
lives  on  nothing  nowhere.  While  preach- 
ing top  lofts  and  crusts  of  bread  as  an  in- 
centive for  developing  the  artistic  instinct, 
one  can  not  help  observing  that  advocates 
of  the  chimera  never  on  their  own  account 
stop  laboring  year  in  and  year  out  to  demon- 
strate that  “nothing  succeeds  like  success.” 
As  for  “necessity,”  about  the  only  thing  it 
ever  invented  or  produced  was  a whine, 
an  ugly  growl  or  a case  of  illness.  You 
may  infer  from  what  is  here  written  that 

[137] 


THE  ARTISTS 


your  correspondent  is  insensible  to  the  ad- 
vantages accompanying  the  profession  of 
an  artist.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  fully 
alive  to  them.  That  for  which  we  are  un- 
willing to  make  a sacrifice  is  not  worth 
having.  A young  friend  of  mine  who  was 
a good  painter  but  encountered  serious 
difficulties  in  trying  to  make  ends  meet, 
once  called  on  ^^dlliam  M.  Hunt  at  his 
studio  in  Boston.  Incidentally  in  the 
course  of  a decidedly  pleasant  conversation 
the  youth  told  Mr.  Hunt  of  some  of  the 
troubles  he  was  having,  which  enlisted  that 
gentleman’s  sympathies,  but  it  also  brought 
from  him  this  pointed  inquiry:  “Are  you 

not  willing  to  dwell  in  a garret  and  live  on 
boiled  potatoes  for  a few  years?  If  not, 
you  don’t  deserve  to  succeed  as  an  artist.” 
Yet,  after  all,  taking  it  up  one  side  and 
down  the  other,  the  life  of  an  artist  is  not 
the  worst  conceivable.  Pleasure  and  pain 
attend  him  at  recurrent  interv^als  pretty 
much  as  they  do  other  people.  His  hap- 

[138] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

piest  moments  come  with  the  completion 
of  a successful  picture,  and  melancholy 
sets  in  when  he  realizes  at  the  close  of  a 
hard  day’s  work  that  it  is  another  case  of 
^‘love’s  labor  lost.”  Possessing,  as  the 
most  of  them  do,  a vein  of  philosophy,  they 
find  it  comes  in  handy  on  occasions.  That 
members  of  the  profession  are  a happy-go- 
lucky  lot,  or  that  they  are  alike  in  any 
particular,  is  an  erroneous  idea.  No  set  of 
men  present  more  individuality.  Some  of 
them  toss  silver  and  paper  currency  into 
their  overcoat  pockets  along  with  gloves, 
muffler  and  handkerchief,  while  others 
wear  corduroy  trousers  and  get  up  in  the 
night  to  count  their  money.  If  it  is  a 
penny  short,  they  stay  up.  Radically  dif- 
ferent was  that  one  in  Paris  who  died  with- 
out knowing  what  he  was  worth  financially. 
Upon  receiving  pay  for  a picture,  invari- 
ably he  threw  the  stuff  over  his  head  back- 
wards into  a pile  of  lumber,  a jumble  of 
odds  and  ends,  at  one  end  of  his  studio. 

[139] 


THE  ARTISTS 


At  another  time,  upon  being  presented 
with  a bill,  he  would  say  to  the  collector, 
“Come,  let  us  go  look  for  some  money.” 
Together  they  would  then  search  until  a 
sum  was  found  sufficient  to  discharge  the 
obligation. 

Nearly  every  artist  I have  ever  known 
had  another  talent  in  addition  to  that  of 
painting.  Among  these  were  droll  story 
tellers,  dialect  speakers,  impersonators, 
musicians,  orators,  writers,  actors,  etc.  Up 
in  Wisconsin  there  is  one  who  writes 
doggerel.  He  presented  me  with  a copy 
of  the  following  example  of  his  efforts  in 
blank  verse;  and  as  it  is  not  altogether 
pointless,  1 am  passing  it  along  to  you. 
He  calls  it: 

A CRITIC  AT  THE  EXHIBITION 

Why,  hello,  Tom!  I ’m  glad  to  see  you  here 
Among  the  purty  pictures.  Art  is  long,  I ’ve  heerd, 
And  life  is  goll  darned  short — but  not  as  short 
As  it  might  be,  when  trouble  comes  a-knockin’. 

Good  show?  Well,  yes;  I s’pose  it’s  got  to  do; 

It  seems  there ’s  nothin’  better  bein’  done. 

[■40] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


The  things  they  paint  these  days  is  sorry  stuff. 
Ambition  no  one  ’pears  to  have,  above 
Portrayin’  of  the  sky  and  sea  and  fields, 

And  bubbly  streams  meanderin’  through  the  -weeds. 
Just  look’ee  there! — No,  not  that  daub  of  paint. 
Intended,  I suppose,  for  dashin’  waves — 

I mean  that  big  one  there — the  frame  itself 
Would  cost  a man  as  much  as  forty  dollars — 

You  call  that  Art?  A swipe  of  greenish  earth 
With  yaller  clouds  and  shadders  in  the  pool? 

Let ’s  glance  around.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of 
that? 

A man  who  calls  himself  an  artist,  goes 
And  paints  the  snow  as  blue  as  all  git  out! 

’Most  all  the  snow  we ’ve  saw  was  white — eh,  Tom? 
And  here’s  another.  Thought  it  had  some  merit? 

If  I was  judge,  I ’d  jail  a man  for  that! 

Them  mountains  and  that  light  across  the  marsh 
Are  good ; and  so ’s  the  trees  and  fields  and  creek. 
But  why  stop  there?  Could  he  have  showed  a rail- 
way 

And  train  of  cars — the  locomotive  whistlin’ 

To  scare  a grazin’  heifer  off  the  track; 

And  some  one  in  the  distance  feedin’  pigs. 

He  might  have  called  it,  then,  a work  of  art! 

I would  n’t  give  a whoop  for  all  that ’s  here. 
Outlandish  landscapes  and  marines  and — pshaw! 
Why  don’t  they  paint  some  human  interest  things — 
The  stuff  that  stirs  mankind  to  noble  deeds — 

Instead  of  tiresome  trash?  If  I could  draw, 

I ’d  paint  the  grandest  things  you  ever  seen  1 


THE  ARTISTS 


Forgive  me,  my  dear  Normandin,  this 
time  and  F 11  promise  you  never  to  do  it 
again.  Trusting  that  in  the  future  you 
will  paint  the  snow  sufficiently  white,  I 
remain.  Sincerely  yours,  etc. 


[142] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


THIRTEENTH  LETTER 

Touching  the  Matter  of  Exhibition  Juries, 
and  a Word  About  Popular  Fallacies 

My  Dear  Friend — Something  I read 
in  a newspaper  yesterday  suggested  the 
idea  that  to  write  a word  to  you  regarding 
exhibitions  of  paintings  in  public  art 
galleries  would  not  be  amiss.  Quite 
regularly,  when  these  events  come  around, 
some  touchy  contributor  whose  dyspepsia 
at  the  time  chances  to  be  more  distressing 
than  usual,  loses  his  temper  and  fairly 
bursts  with  indignation  when  his  picture  is 
submitted  to  the  jury  of  selection  and  re- 
spectfully declined.  He  insists  on  taking 
the  incident  as  personal,  when  it  is  nothing 
of  the  sort.  It  is  true  that  nearly  all  of  the 
artists  go  in  for  these  affairs  with  the 
proper  idea,  and  are  perfectly  content, 

[143] 


THE  ARTISTS 


whichever  way  the  cat  jumps,  to  abide  by 
the  jury’s  decision,  their  self-esteem  being 
not  so  pronounced  but  that  they  can  take 
into  consideration  the  possibility  of  the 
acceptance  or  rejection  of  a proffered 
“masterpiece”  by  an  exceedingly  close 
shave — which  there  is  reason  to  think  hap- 
pens not  infrequently.  Out  of,  we  will 
say,  one  thousand  canvases  submitted  it  is 
the  jury’s  task — its  thankless  task — to  se- 
lect, perhaps,  three  hundred,  that  being  the 
number  to  which  the  allotted  space  limits 
them.  With  them  the  main  object  of 
course  is  to  give  as  good  an  exhibition  of 
current  art  as  it  is  possible  to  secure  from 
the  material  at  hand,  which  would  call  for 
variety  as  well  as  excellence  of  subject.  It 
stands  to  reason  that  if  four  or  five  paint- 
ings of  woods  in  autumn  are  among  the 
lot,  the  jurors  are  not  likely  to  choose  more 
than  two  or  three.  Now,  if  these  four  or 
five  paintings  are  of  a uniform  quality, 
one  averaging  about  as  good  as  another, 

[144] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 

are  not  the  jurymen  truly  beset  to  decide 
which  of  them  will  best  answer  the  pur- 
pose? If  we  really  think  the  gentlemen 
comprising  the  jury  ought  to  have  charity 
for  us,  why  can  not  we  for  goodness’  sake 
try  and  have  some  for  them?  While  grati- 
fying  your  taste  and  requirements  in  the 
purchase  of  a hat,  you  do  not  thereby  in- 
tend to  disparage  or  dispute  the  merits  of 
any  of  the  other  hats  the  dealer  may  have 
to  offer.  Rejection  does  not  necessarily 
imply  condemnation.  Suppose  the  jury 
of  selection  to  be  about  equally  divided  as 
to  the  worthiness  or  availability  of  two 
good  pictures,  and  the  vote  of  a single 
member  decides  which  of  them  shall  be  ac- 
cepted. Has  the  author  of  the  rejected 
canvas  any  cause  for  complaint,  when  if 
the  deciding  vote  had  been  by  chance  left 
to  another  member  it  might  have  gone  in? 
Or,  viewing  the  matter  in  a different  light: 
two  moonlight  pictures,  we  will  say,  are 
sent  in,  one  of  which  is  very  much  superior 

[145] 


THE  ARTISTS 


to  the  other,  and  that  you  unluckily  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  “other.”  Having  the 
good  of  the  cause  at  heart,  are  you  not 
pleased  to  concur  in  the  jury’s  judgment? 
Or  would  you  prefer  to  have  had  them  re- 
ject the  better  one  and  hang  the  failure  in- 
stead of — but  I won’t  say  it.  Artists 
should  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  only  by  hav- 
ing an  intelligent' set  of  men  fix  and  ad- 
here to  a high  standard. that  the  exhibitions 
have  any  value  for  them;  nor  should  they 
forget  that  juries  are  composed  of  individ- 
uals who  are  quite-  as  fallible  as  the  rest 
of  us.  Tt  is-  not  uncommon  for  contribu- 
tors to  put  their  rejec<-ed  canvases  aside, 
enter  the  same  at  a subsequent  exhibition 
and  have  them  accepted. 

And  yet  it  would  seem  as  if  the  little 
troubles  of  life  are,  after  all,  the  things 
which  make  it  worth  while.  Can  you  con- 
ceive of  a condition  drearier  than  uninter- 
rupted bliss?  On  this  score  the  artistic 
mind  rests  easv,  but  in  that  of  the  general 

[146] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


public  there  is  always  adrift  without  rud- 
der or  compass  the  battered,  illusionary 
notion  that  the  career  of  a professional 
artist  comes  so  near  being  an  admirable 
blending  of  rapturous  pleasure  with  deli- 
cious spells  of  dreamy  idleness  that  it  is  the 
very  next  thing  to  a bed  of  roses.  The 
general  public,  seated  within  an  elaborately 
appointed  theater,  listening  to  good  music 
'and  observing  the  bonhomie  and  apparent 
ease  with  which  the  actors  speak  their 
lines,  cherishes  a somewhat  similar  opinion 
with  reference  to  stage  life.  It  may  be  just 
as  well  to  continue  maintaining  these  daz- 
zling fictions,  since  their  indulgence  is  an 
inexpensive  luxury  that  possibly  exerts 
something  of  a neutralizing  influence  to 
counteract  the  rigors  of  stern  reality.  It 
is  but  reasonable  to  assert,  however,  that 
no  profession  is  attended  by  difficulties  so 
entirely  disproportioned  to  its  aggregate 
emoluments  as  that  of  the  painter’s.  The 
doctor,  the  lawyer,  the  actor,  the  architect, 

[147] 


THE  ARTISTS 


the  musician,  the  writer,  each  and  all  of 
them,  is  well  paid  for  his  labor  and  years 
of  study.  Should  one  of  these  succeed  in 
reaching  the  top  round  of  the  ladder  in  his 
profession,  a rich  reward  awaits  him;  but 
even  if  enabled  to  ascend  only  a few  rounds 
his  abilities  command  an  income  not  en- 
tirely beneath  contempt.  The  public  an- 
nually contributes  millions  of  dollars  to- 
ward the  support  of  the  stage,  and  a legion 
of  hospitals  with  their  myriads  of  cots  of 
pain  serve  to  give  some  idea  of  what  is  the 
physician’s  share.  For  every  man  who 
buys  an  original  picture  a dozen  or  twenty 
men  become  involved  in  litigation  to  keep 
the  wolf  from  the  lawyer’s  door,  and  if 
every  house  newly  built  was  supplied  with 
one  good  painting  the  discrepancy  at  pres- 
ent existing  between  the  architect’s  and 
the  artist’s  income  would  be  less  apparent. 
We  readily  pay  for  the  privilege  of  listen- 
ing to  music — nobody  thinks  of  asking  the 
plaver  to  exert  himself  for  nothing — but 

[148] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


who  ever  thinks  of  paying  for  the  gratifi- 
cation of  viewing  an  artist’s  work?  Richly 
endowed  art  museums  purchase  the  finest 
of  pictures  in  order  that  the  world  may  see 
them  without  cost.  Leaving  writers  out 
of  the  question,  the  minister  then  and  the 
painter  come  the  nearest  to  meeting  on 
common  ground  in  this  respect;  but  I shall 
maintain  till  I am  black  in  the  face  that  as 
a rule  the  former  is  financially  rewarded 
the  better  of  the  two.  He  is  not  obliged 
to  invest  all  of  his  spare  change  in  expen- 
sive materials,  and  his  work,  like  that  of 
the  other  professions  alluded  to,  again  ex- 
cepting writers,  is  sometimes  subject  to 
repetition.  The  poorest  paintings  of  a 
mediocre  artist  outlast  their  author.  They 
are  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation,  and  if  it  were  not  for  an  oc- 
casional “disastrous  conflagration,”  would 
last  practically  forever. 

Another  of  the  fallacies  prevailing  is 
that  the  landscape  painter’s  is  an  exceed- 

[149] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ingly  “nice”  occupation — as  dainty  as  a 
woman’s  perfumed  glove.  Supposedly, 
after  breakfasting  at  nine  in  the  morning 
and  donning  a suit  of  silk  velvet,  this  for- 
tunate individual  repairs  to  his  studio, 
where  for  an  hour  or  more  he  enjoys  him- 
self in  lifting  with  a brush  and  placing  on 
canvas  bits  of  lovely  color,  ready  mixed 
and  harmonizing  perfectly;  and  as  these 
go  on,  a delightfully  pleasing  picture  ap- 
pears in  front  of  him.  His  day’s  work  be- 
ing now  done,  he  lights  a twenty-five  cent 
cigar  and  steps  back  to  admire  the  airy 
creation.  Whenever  an  artist  is  oberved 
to  be  looking  real  hard  at  one  of  his  own 
pictures  you  may  be  sure  he  is  admiring 
it — that  is  a way  they  have.  The  com- 
placent gentleman  may  find  it  necessary  to 
add  another  touch  or  two  of  rich  ultra- 
marine  or  deep  rose  or  golden  orange  here 
and  there,  but  the  probabilities  are  that  the 
picture  already  is  perfect  and  nothing  more 
will  need  to  be  done  to  it.  The  first  visitor 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


who  enters  his  studio  praises  the  sketch 
highly,  buys  it  at  any  old  price,  and  goes 
off  leaving  a check  for  enough  money  to 
keep  the  painter  going  for  a long,  long 
time. 

With  sentiments  of  high  esteem,  I remain, 
etc. 


THE  ARTISTS 


FOURTEENTH  LETTER 

Having  Divulged  About  All  He  Knows, 
the  Author  is  Constrained  to  Bid  His 
Fellow  Student  an  Affectionate  Fare- 
well 

Mv  Dear  Friexd — For  more  reasons 
than  one,  your  correspondent  sincerely 
regrets  that,  owing  to  opposing  circum- 
stances, an  exceedingly  protracted  period 
may  elapse  before  he  will  be  able  to  com- 
municate with  you  again.  If  the  missives 
he  has  penned  you  from  time  to  time  have 
been  deemed  worthy  of  preservation,  a 
careful  review  of  them,  aside  from  their 
angles  of  persiflage  and  pleasantries,  will 
disclose  that  he  has  told  about  all  there  is 
to  tell  concerning  landscape  painting  be- 
yond that  which  is  taught  in  the  regular 
schools  of  art.  As  remarked  at  the  be- 

[152] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


ginning,  I must  acknowledge  myself  in- 
capable of  teaching  you  how  to  do  that 
which  you  wish  to  do.  I have  endeavored 
to  tell  you  conscientiously,  not  how  to  paint 
a picture,  for  that  you  can  do  already,  but 
to  direct  your  careful  attention  to  certain 
basic  studies  which  must  be  pursued  in- 
dustriously before  one  can  hope  to  paint 
correctly  or  produce  a picture  that  shall 
command  the  respect  of  one’s  fellow  stu- 
dents. To  the  extent  that  artists  pronounce 
your  work  good,  you  may  rest  assured  it  is 
good. 

Nor  have  I deemed  it  \vorth  while  to 
burthen  you  with  a mass  of  instruction  as 
to  minor  details  in  the  science  of  painting. 
It  has  always  appeared  to  me  as  if  the 
authors  of  works  written  for  that  purpose, 
in  trying  to  tell  too  much,  became  hope- 
lessly involved,  and  left  their  readers  in  the 
same  predicament.  The  art  of  warfare 
may  be  imparted  to  a certain  extent,  but 
the  narration  of  former  feats  of  military 

[153] 


THE  ARTISTS 


strategy  can  be  of  slight  assistance  to  the 
commander  who  is  expecting  to  engage  a 
cunning  adversary  next  summer.  Don’t 
waste  too  much  time  trying  to  learn  how 
others  have  succeeded.  Their  methods, 
their  technique,  their  “quips  and  quirks” 
were  well  enough  for  them;  but  they  did 
not  get  all  the  apples  in  the  orchard. 
Some  were  left;  and  who  knows  but  that 
you  may  find  them. 

Disregarding  everything  that  may  be  as- 
serted to  the  contrary,  keep  in  mind  the  su- 
preme truth  that  the  beauties  in  nature 
are  attributable  to  perfect  drawing  and  the 
eternal  presence  of  the  three  primary 
colors  correctly  proportioned,  or,  as  the 
artist  would  say,  absolutely  truthful  in 
value.  If  you  are  a worshiper  at  the 
shrine  of  those  consummate  expressions  of 
nature  and  nature’s  God  which  are  dis- 
coverable everywhere,  at  all  seasons,  you 
will  be  bound  to  lead  the  right  sort  of  a life 
and  think  the  right  kind  of  thoughts,  with 

[154] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


the  result  that  your  pictures,  if  you  paint 
pictures,  your  music,  if  you  compose  music, 
your  book,  if  you  write  books,  will  reflect 
something  of  those  great  truths.  If  hu- 
manity admires  your  creations,  it  is  be- 
cause there  is  something  admirable  in  your 
soul.  Becoming  acquainted  with  your 
work,  they  have  the  feeling  that  they  know 
you. 

It  is  a fixed  belief  with  me  that  the 
standard  of  art  can  no  more  be  raised  by 
a<^ademicians  than  that  of  literature  can  be 
elevated  by  scholastics,  only  in  so  far  as 
their  legitimate  efforts  extend  in  the  sphere 
of  technology.  Indirectly  they  are  help- 
ing to  gain  a higher  plane,  of  course.  But 
about  the  time  these  worthy  toilers  succeed 
in  getting  their  stakes  adjusted  and  well 
driven.  Behold!  an  unknown  stripling, 
newly  released  from  his  mother’s  apron 
strings,  steps  confidently  to  the  front,  and 
by  simple  daring  and  his  God-given 
genius,  upsets  all  rules  and  preconceived 
[I5S] 


THE  ARTISTS 


ideas  of  improvement.  It  can  be  of  not 
the  slightest  consequence  whether  he  comes 
from  the  higher  or  the  lower  walks  of  life, 
since  the  boundaries  of  those  walks  are  in- 
determinable. Sooner  or  later  he  is  certain 
to  make  his  appearance  amongst  the  dry 
bones  and  neatly  wired  skeletons  of  ex- 
clusiveness, just  as  he  has  been  doing  with 
remarkable  regularity  ever  since  the  dawn 
of  history. 

For  no  doubt  whatever  exists  in  the 
writer’s  mind  but  that  from  his  very  in- 
ception every  genius  is  inspired,  nor  that 
the  source  of  his  inspiration  is  the  true  God. 
That  the  genius  is  unaware  of  the  fact  that 
he  is  a genius — the  knowledge  being  with- 
held from  him  for  some  inscrutable  rea- 
son— is  but  another  proof  of  that  Infinite 
Wisdom  that  “moves  in  a mysterious  way.” 
The  most  wonderful  mystery  of  all,  reveal- 
ing the  very  essence  of  subtlety,  is  that  he 
never  can  know  his  powers,  while  others 
are  privileged  to  perceive  and  partially 

[156] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


measure  them.  The  world,  surveying  his 
work,  is  able  to  recognize  the  creature’s  mis- 
sion. “By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.” 
Inspiration  coming  to  him,  he  calls  it  “an 
idea,”  and  without  delay  proceeds  to  write 
it  down  on  paper,  paint  it  on  canvas,  carve 
it  in  marble,  or  set  it  to  music.  Others,  he 
reflects,  have  had  ideas  and  brought  them 
to  a conclusion;  wherein  should  his  effort 
differ  from  theirs?  Having  completed  it, 
his  product  is  submitted,  never  without  mis- 
givings, to  the  critical  judgment  of  a non- 
personal world.  The  latter  sometimes  is 
able  to  recognize  Divinity  behind  the  con- 
ception, and  again  it  is  not.  The  accom- 
panying message  would  appear  to  be,  “This 
is  a gift  withal — take  it  or  leave  it,  as  you 
like.” 

A genius  is  not  unlike  the  sensitized  plate 
employed  in  photography.  In  youth  and 
during  the  period  of  adolescence  countless 
impressions  are  made  upon  his  plastic 
brain,  to  be  taken  up  afterwards  and  woven 

[157] 


THE  ARTISTS 


into  the  work  of  later  years.  His  child- 
hood days  are  continuous  journeyings  in 
realms  of  phantasy — call  it  dreamland,  if 
you  will.  Ceaselessly  though  unconsciously 
everything  about  him  is  clothed  in  ra- 
diant garbs  of  fancy  peculiarly  his  own, 
which  to  him  are  as  truthful  and  concrete 
as  the  earth  whereon  he  treads.  To  others 
he  is  prone  to  attribute  exalted  virtues  and 
a purity  of  thought  which  they  may  not  pos- 
sess in  the  slightest  degree,  because  he  sees 
them  with  eyes  which  seek  those  qualities. 
All  individuals  in  whom  the  world  has  rec- 
ognized the  mysterious.  Divine  spark  of 
genius  must  have  gathered  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  material  for  their  work  before 
reaching  maturity.  Youth  sees  everything, 
hears  everything;  but  there  exists  always 
this  same  old  difference — one  child  is  a 
highly  sensitized  plate,  whilst  another  is 
just  plain  glass.  The  picture,  the  poem, 
the  operatic  composition,  are  but  reflections 
or  reverberations  of  indelibly  stamped  im- 

[158] 


POINT  OF  VIEW 


pressions  on  well-poised,  harmonious  organ- 
izations whose  souls  were  attuned  to  melody 
from  the  hour  of  their  birth. 

Wishing  you  long  life,  happiness  and 
abundant  success,  I remain,  as  ever,  etc. 


THE  END 


[159] 


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